


Into My Arms

by rhiannonhero



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M, post-s4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-08
Updated: 2010-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-05 23:39:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhiannonhero/pseuds/rhiannonhero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p><b>Dedication:</b> Years ago I promised Shape5 that I'd finish this story.  I'm very slow sometimes, especially when a baby is conceived, birthed, and almost ready to turn two in the interim.  So, Sharon, sweetheart, this one is for you, with love.  I hope you like it.  If you don't...well, I'm sorry!  :)</p><p><b>Appreciation:</b>  Thank you to jackpride for the nudge to consider writing this one again.  Thank you to peggin for the support and confidence over the years.  Thank you to supergrover24 for pointing out a broken part so that I was able to (hopefully) fix it.  Thank you to luceononuro for the support in this story and in all things over the years.  Thank you to firehead30 and vlredreign for inspiring me with their enthusiasm, reminding me why I like to write fanfiction and how rewarding it can be, and for encouraging me in this story and in general.  Thank you to missjungle, my heart's sister, for coming out of the woodwork all the way over on the other side of the earth where you live with your outhouse and your pig to read this story as I was writing it and to tell me to keep on!  Thank you to milady1844, brandil, jule1122, smartwomn1, 1_mad_squirrel, highd, duffy_60, and particles_of_0 for reading along as I wrote, for the criticisms and the encouragement.  I wrote it for you guys, too.</p><p><b>Special Acknowledgment:</b>  Thanks to Maria Rainer Rilke for the book of poetry entitled <span class="u">The Book of Images</span>.  The poem which Brian quotes the first line of is as follows:</p><p><span class="small">Nights like these, the dying see clearly,<br/>reach down lightly into the growing hair<br/>whose stalks out of their skulls' weakness<br/>in those long hopeless days sprout,<br/>as if they wanted to remain<br/>above death's surface.<br/>Their gesture goes through the house<br/>as if mirrors hung everywhere;<br/>and they give off -- with this digging<br/>into their hair-- powers,<br/>which they have gathered throughout years<br/>that are <i>gone</i>.</span></p></blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shape5](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Shape5).



_ and leave you (inexpressibly to untangle)  
your life afraid and huge and ripening,  
so that it, now bound in and now embracing,  
grows alternately stone in you and star  
_ ~ Rainer Maria Rilke

::::::

**Into My Arms**

It had been ten years since Brian had seen him, nine since they talked, and four since he'd heard anything about him at all. So, the fact that Brian found himself frozen in the center of a grocery aisle, holding a bag of grapes in one hand, and guava juice in the other, wasn't really an overreaction, no matter what he would tell himself later.

Justin pushed a cart along, his head lowered to speak to a dark-haired little girl who was twisted around in the child-seat. Brian had heard that Justin had impregnated a lezzie friend he'd picked up in L.A., a famous actress or something , but he'd never heard anything more about it. Brian had just decided to duck his head, and turn the corner before Justin could see him, when he had his anonymity snatched away from him.

"Why are you staring at us?" the little girl yelled down the aisle at him, her child's voice held nary a lisp, and was neither accusatory or angry, merely curious.

Instantly, Justin's attention focused entirely on Brian, and when their eyes me, Brian felt a momentary flash of anger that Justin was here, and he steadied himself against the sudden rush of sadness and regret.

"Brian!" Justin gave the super-lightening smile, sounding pleased, if surprised, and he wheeled the cart down the aisle towards Brian, who felt rooted to the ground, unable to make any move to get away.

"Justin," Brian replied, attempting to force himself to relax. "It's been a long time."

Justin came around the cart, leaning forward as though anticipating an embrace and then straightening up without one, but he was still smiling. "Too long."

Brian indicated the girl, asking, "And who's this?"

"This is my daughter, Annabelle." Justin touched her dark hair. "Annabelle, this is Daddy's friend, Mr. Kinney."

"Belle," she said, her eyes round and sincere.

Justin laughed, and began the introductions again. "I'm sorry. This is my daughter, _Belle_."

"Like Beauty," she said, putting her little chin in the air for emphasis.

Justin wrinkled his nose and explained, "Disney."

Brian nodded slowly. His tongue felt thick, and he didn't know the last time he'd felt so incredibly stupid.

"Are you still living in the loft?" Justin asked.

"Well," Brian said, lips twisted in a fake smile, "Until I find the perfect country manor with stables and a tennis court, I see no reason to move." The only reason there had ever been to move was standing in front of him and Justin knew that then and he surely knew it now. The emotions tumbling through Brian left him feeling vast and empty inside, and his ears were ringing as though he were talking over a great distance, "And what about you? Still in L.A.?"

"Life was good to me there for the most part, but we moved to New York earlier this year to be closer to the gallery that's hosting my work, and closer to my agent, Simone. I've been moving away from the movie projects lately and getting back into fine arts."

"Great. That's peachy, Sunshine." Brian lips stretched into a brittle smile.

Justin continued, "I'd hoped to see you while I was in town. I wanted you to meet Belle and, well, to _catch up_." He shifted to his other foot, and Brian recognized the flirtatious blink, the angled hip, the invitation in Justin's eyes. Recognized and wanted.

"Well, I met Belle, and I guess we caught up." Brian lifted his guava juice in farewell and made ase if to move on.

"Brian," Justin touched his arm. "Let's have dinner. Tonight? Tomorrow?"

Brian said nothing. He couldn't look at Justin's face and he found himself instead gazing into Justin's daughter's deep brown eyes lifted curiously to his own.

Justin let go of Brian's arm, and put his hand on his daughter's head instead, smoothing her hair, and then continued talking like this was any other encounter with an old friend, like he didn't know that Brian was standing there eviscerated in the middle of the fucking grocery store. "Can we stop by later? This obviously isn't the best place to...." Justin's expression shifted and he looked down at his daughter again.

"Catch up?" Brian supplied, the words heavy and rough.

"Yeah."

Brian forced himself to look away from Justin and his daughter, gazing off down the aisle, hoping he'd see a hot guy that he could pretend to hit on, anything to get him out of this moment and to remind Justin who he was. There was no one, so he settled for saying, "I'm not baby-proofed. Maybe next time."

Justin lowered his lashes and said, "I can leave Belle with Mom."

"Justin--" Brian had no idea what he was going to say and he never found out.

"Great. I'll be there at seven." Justin smiled and turned back to his daughter. "Belle, honey, say good-bye to Daddy's friend."

"Bye, mister!" Belle called as Justin pushed the cart down the aisle, and Brian's heart twisted again at Justin's happy sounding laugh. Brian stared after Justin, his words still missing in the ether somewhere.

::::::

Brian paced in his apartment. "Now listen here, you little shit! I didn't invite you and I don't want you! So get the fuck out!"

There was a time when he could have trusted himself not to need to rehearse kicking Justin out on his ass.

That time was long gone. He'd learned a lot about life over the last many years, and there were several things that he'd come to realize were the ultimate truths of Brian Kinney's existance: there were three people who made his heart wrench with love, and any of these three people could destroy him if they wanted to, and one of them almost had. The list was short.

1\. Michael Novotny   
2\. Gus Peterson   
3\. Justin Taylor

Not necessarily in that order.

Lindsay was on the list sometimes, too, but only when he didn't have to deal with Mel on any regular basis. Still, he'd do almost anything for Lindsay.

Michael, well…Michael had sold his portion of the what had turned into a Rage _industry_ to Justin a few years ago, because he just wanted out, and because caring for your partner when he was dying suddenly put life into a hell of a lot of perspective. Despite everything, Brian knew that he'd always be part of Michael's life. They might still end up living together yet: two old queens down in Palm Springs.

Gus was fourteen now and Brian saw him every three or four months. Brian had done his best to keep his promise to spend more time with his kid, and he even though he'd failed utterly, he still thought he'd turned out to be a better father than he'd thought he'd be when Gus was first born. If nothing else, he'd been a better father than his own had been. Though, maybe that wasn't saying much. There had only been one disappointment--if one could call it that. Brian had caught Gus looking up Cynthia's new assistant's skirt the last time he'd taken him into the office, and when Gus had blushed furiously, Brian knew that he and the munchers had somehow raised a straight kid.

As for Justin, he'd moved to Los Angeles to make the first Rage film, and despite Justin's reassurances that he'd be back, well, Brian had known how it would be when the kid left, and one movie had led to another, and more opportunties came up, and Justin never came back. Brian sometimes found himself looking back and thinking, "If I'd done this, if I'd said that--" but regret was bullshit, and fuck if Justin wasn't better off anyway. Brian always found some kind of perverse pleasure in the idea that Justin was in L.A. giving the world the finger with his gay comic book hero, and fucking all of the closeted A-list actors. Still, the pain lingered, taking his breath at odd times, and he'd never found anyone else to take Justin's place. Not that he'd looked. Not that he'd _ever_ look.

So, why was he bent on kicking Justin out? Because when the love of Brian Kinney's life showed back up looking for a nice fuck for the road, nightmarish memories of endless drinking, whoring, and drugged escapism came to mind. Brian knew that he couldn't survive that again. Every man had limits and Brian knew his.

Sometimes Brian thought about the man he'd been when he first met Justin, and then he compared that to the man he was when Justin walked away, and then to the man he was now. It was an amusing exercise that gave him no answers, just a stunning amount of perspective now that he was pushing forty. Okay, fine, now that he was well _over_ forty.

Brian sat down and scrubbed his face with his hands. Trying to remember the point of the exercise. Oh, right. The point was that Brian hadn't wanted Justin, hadn't invited him, couldn't deal with him, wouldn't deal with him, and no fuck was going to be worth the pain--

It was nice to know that his mind still had the off-switch when it came to thinking the unthinkable.

::::::

Brian pulled back the door of the loft, saying, "I didn't invite--" but he fell silent.

Justin, dressed casually in jeans and a button up shirt, stood loaded down with wine, a sack of food from the diner, a huge shoulder bag of some sort, and a sound-asleep little girl.

"Sorry. My mom couldn't watch her after all." He chuckled. "And it's times like these that it sucks that Molly is going to school in Atlanta, you know."

Actually, he didn't know. Jennifer Taylor hadn't exactly kept him informed of her family's activities once he and Justin had parted ways. They had never been _that_ close, although he knew that they could have been.

Brian grabbed the bottle of wine before it slipped from Justin's hands, and pulled the door open all the way. "What's she doing here, anyway?"

"Uh, I was hoping she could sleep on the sofa while we had dinner?"

"No. I mean _here_. Where's her lezzie mommy?"

"Dead."

Brian took the food from Justin's hands, and walked to the kitchen counter. "Oh."

Justin followed, shifting the shoulder bag and Belle around. "Car wreck. Meghan was hit by a drunk driver crossing the street about three blocks from home. Luckily, Annabelle--"

"Belle," Brian corrected.

Justin snorted. "Excuse me, _Belle_ wasn't with her because Meghan had been so late getting to daycare to pick her up that another mother had taken Belle home, thinking that Meg had just--" He broke off the story. "You don't fucking care. Long story short. Meg's dead and I've got Belle now."

Brian blinked at him, tried to think of what to say to the unexpected hostility, and finally settled on, "I'm sure you're a great dad."

Justin shrugged, adjusted Belle's position on his hip, and changed the topic. "She's so fuh--, um, darn _heavy_."

Brian chuckled for the first time and said, "Maybe if you ever worked out--"

"Hey! I have the perfect physique."

Brian smiled fondly as that brought back memories. "Yeah, well, better watch out. It can sneak up on you. You'll be fat with no guys chasing your ass. And you're way beyond twinkdom now."

"Yeah, I guess I'm a daddy." He indicated Belle with a duck of his head. "In more ways than one."

Brian began to unpack the bag of food, waving toward the couch. He'd known the instant he'd opened the door and seen the two of them that he wasn't going to send Justin away, that he was going to fuck him, and that he was definitely going to be spending another three months (at least) living in the bottom of a bottle, hopped up on recreational drugs, and trying to fuck his way back into a happiness that never came. Brian was so sure of such an inevitable outcome, that it was as though he'd already lived it, and he moved around the kitchen feeling like he'd just come out the other side of a tunnel, even knowing that it had only been an underpass.

He could hear Justin's deep voice speaking softly to the little girl he was settling on the sofa. "Daddy will be in the kitchen with Mr. Kinney. I'll be right here. Okay?"

"Promise?" she asked drowsily, already falling back asleep.

"Promise."

Brian had just uncorked the wine when Justin strolled to the counter and pulled up a stool. "She's a little afraid of being left alone since Meghan died," he said, reaching for the glass that Brian held out to him. "But she had a huge day and she's pretty beat. My mother can't get enough of her."

"She's pretty."

"Well, she should be with me as her dad," Justin smirked suggestively, and Brian rolled his eyes. "--and Meghan Mallory as her mom."

"Meghan Mallory," Brian repeated. _That_ Meghan Mallory? The star of the movies _Mangos Are Not The Only Fruit_ and _Forever Is Ever_? Emmett had seen every film she'd been in; Brian, Ted, and Michael had been submitted to endless rhapsodies over the 'new Audrey Hepburn', but he'd never known that she was the mother of Justin's child. Brian had actually bought that rag People magazine for Emmett the week that she'd died.

"The very one. She was amazing," Justin said, sadness edging his voice. "I told Daphne that she really should have been a muncher because she and Meg would have been perfect together."

"Daphne knows the importance of a good, hard prick in a person's life."

Justin nodded his agreement. "Heard from Daph lately?"

Brian just looked at him, surely Justin knew the answer to that question. It seemed like bait of some kind to him.

"I guess not. Well, she's the one who convinced me to come here."

"To come to Pittsburgh? I can understand why you'd need to be convinced. I still can't understand why I never left."

"Me, either."

Brian smirked. "Ah, as Mikey says, if you love a place you leave, and if you hate a place you stay. Of course we were fucking high at the time, so it made sense then."

"You look good."

"I look great."

Justin nodded, saying breathlessly, "Yeah. You look great. You always look great."

Brian was flattered, pleased that even at his advanced age that Justin still wanted him, but....

"Listen, Justin, I didn't invite--"

"I know; you didn't invite me here to fuck me. Hell, you didn't invite me here at all. I don't care." Justin looked toward the couch, reassuring himself that Belle was asleep, then back at Brian, his blue eyes intense beneath heavy lids. "I've missed you."

Brian rolled his eyes, words forming in his mouth, something along the lines of, "You just _think_ you miss me, but if you were around me for more than a day, you'd remember all the reasons you left to begin with," but he didn't say that, instead he just shrugged and snarked, "Tough titty, said the kitty."

Justin's mouth fell open in silent laughter, before sputtering, "You are so lame! So emotionally stunted and lame!"

Brian shrugged again. Justin had just proved his unspoken point. He turned to grab two plates for the food Justin had brought, and when he turned around Justin was standing at the corner of the bar studying him with a hand on one hip, and the other raised to his mouth thoughtfully.

Brian's mouth went dry as Justin advanced on him, taking the plates from his hands, and placing them on the counter. Brian tried to take a step back, to regain control of the situation, but Justin was on his tip-toes and his mouth tasted like spearmint gum.

It was breathtaking like falling, and Brian wrapped his arms around Justin's thin form, dragging him as close as possible. Coming up for breath, he whispered, "Your kid--"

"Sleeping."

"How do you know she won't--"

"I know."

He didn't ask again because he'd been fucked from the moment he'd opened the door; no, from the moment he'd seen Justin in the grocery. As usual, despite Brian's protests Justin would have his way.

::::

Justin's body was as pliable as ever, and Brian bit his tongue to keep from telling him how much it felt like coming home to push into his tight ass. Words had always been messy between them, but sex had always been messy in the _right_ way--the way that said things like, "Need. Want. Love. Please. God. Now. Yes."

When Justin came, Brian held his breath, noting the familiar and unfamiliar at once. The small wrinkles around the eyes were new and strange, but the open mouth, and the deep groan were familiar in that way of recurring dreams.

Brian tasted Justin's lips again, and smoothed his hand over Justin's pale skin, then closed his eyes for his own release. When it was over, he held on tight, burying his face in Justin's neck so that he could hide how blown apart he felt, but Justin was on to him, squeezing Brian closer and rubbing his trembling arms.

Brian stood up and went to the shower without saying a word relieved that Justin didn't follow him.

::::

Justin stood next to the sofa looking down at his daughter sleeping there. He'd showered, actually eaten a little of the food that he brought, and had now packed up their stuff in preparation to leave. Brian lips twisted into an amused smile as Justin managed to balance the huge tote, and also swing the sleeping girl into his arms without waking her.

Standing by the door, adrenaline racing in Brian's veins, anticipating the pain to come, Brian whispered, "It was good to see you, Justin."

"It was good to see you, too." Justin kissed Brian's cheek, and continued, "Let's have dinner tomorrow. I promise to leave the munchkin with my mom."

"That'd be nice, but I'm busy."

Justin didn't look convinced. "You don't get it, do you?"

Irritated now, seeing the pain just on the horizon and really not wanting to delay it, because the longer he took to go through it, the worse it would be when it finally came. "Get what?"

"Come on, Brian, think about it."

"Fucking enlighten me, or get out."

Justin didn't appear at all intimidated, and Brian couldn't blame him. He'd known what he was saying with this body when he touched Justin, and he'd known that Justin would know.

"Brian, Daphne convinced me to come here."

Brian lifted his brows in an impatient expression.

"--for you."

"To come here for me?" Brian scoffed. "I don't need you to be here for me." Although that was and always had been a lie.

"No, not come here to be with you, come here to get you. To bring you home with me."

:::::

Brian sat at his desk, eyes unfocused, and mind nowhere near the print ads for Wholesome Foods that were spread across his desk. The meeting was in fifteen minutes. He'd have to hope that Cynthia and Ted could handle it, because he was completely undone and, at this point, considering getting high post haste.

All day he'd done almost nothing but think about the sex he'd had wit Justin, and when he wasn't thinking about the sex, he was remembering the look on Justin's face just before Brian had slammed the door on it, and wondering what the look on Justin's face had been just after. And when he wasn't thinking about that, he was sparing some time to be pissed that Justin seemed to think that Brian was a pathetic, hopeless, love-sick idiot with nothing better to do than to pick up his life and move to New York because Justin deigned to drop by and demand it of him, like he was some kind of housecat that could just be scooped into a carrier and transplanted to another world on its owner's whim, and, hey, Justin was _not_ his owner; they didn't own each other, and people who don't own each other don't treat each other like that.

"Bring you home with me," Brian muttered under his breath, stabbing his pen into the cardboard matting beneath the advert he'd managed to at least declare ugly, unsuitable, and a waste of space before his mind turned back to Justin and the sex.

He didn't notice Cynthia had opened the door to his office until she touched his arm. "_What?_" he snapped, and he shoved back in his chair away from her. Glaring into her eyes, he knew what she would say next just by the expression he found there; she was looking at him with large, sweet eyes, and that was completely incongruant with the fact that he'd said something nasty to her earlier about the thirty pounds she'd put on since she had her kid.

"Brian, Justin is here to see you. Shall I show him in?"

She wasn't his assistant anymore, some twink named Eric whom he'd plucked from the university's business program was, but Cynthia still ran interference for him when she felt it was necessary, and she knew that Justin was the very definition of necessary.

Brian closed his eyes, rubbed some sleep from the corner of his lid, and said, "Fine."

"Ted and I will handle Wholesome Foods this afternoon," she stated as she left the room, broking no argument that he wasn't even going to give.

There was an interminable moment that he spent considering just walking out, shoving past Justin, heading for the baths, except, fuck, they shut those down, the bastards, but then the moment was over and Justin was standing in front of him, hands in pockets, smile on face, looking like he hadn't had a door slammed on him fifteen hours prior.

"Hey," Justin said, reaching out to turn the prints on Brian's desk around, studying the composition. "This one needs something here in this corner; otherwise, it's off balance."

Brian pulled the photos out from under Justin's fingers and said, "Came to try to collect your kitty? Like I said last night, tough titty."

Justin smiled and sat on the edge of the desk. Brian leaned back in his chair to get further away. "Brian, come on. We both know that you love me, and you can't seriously doubt that I love you."

"I haven't seen you in ten years."

"Whatever." Justin rolled his eyes. "Tell me that you don't love me anymore and I'll go."

Blue eyes burned into his and Brian looked away.

"So, okay, you love me. I love you. And you will love Belle."

"Why would I love Belle?"

Justin looked offended. "Because you will. Because she's part of _me_. You love everything about me."

Ten years ago that had been so true that Brian had done and said things he'd never dreamed that he would, but it had all been for nothing, after all, and Justin had gone, just as he should have, just as Brian wanted him to go, and yet—

"You can't just come into my life with a _kid_ and expect me to leave my home, my company, my friends, my _world_ to come play happy family with you in another city."

Justin laughed. "I'm not insane, Brian. Besides, that's not what I was saying. You could have listened to me last night, instead of slamming the door in my face, but that'd be way too functional for you, wouldn't it, Mr. Kinney." The last few words were said in Justin's fuck-me-hard voice, eyelashes lowering, and Brian swallowed.

Justin continued, "We're both adults. Let's make a deal. Let me lay out a few things and you tell me yes or no, and then, depending on your answers, we'll go from there."

At Brian's barely inclined head, Justin went on, "Do you love me?"

Brian raised both brows.

"Okay, that's a yes. Do you believe that I love you?"

"What that has to do with any —"

"Okay, that's a yes. Do you need to know why I disappeared for ten years? Why I went out of your life?"

Brian didn't know what to say, but something in his expression made Justin's face soften, and he slid off the desk, walked around to Brian, swung Brian's chair out, and slid to his knees before him. "I left because I wanted a family. I wanted Belle. I didn't know Meg then, I didn't know the shape it would take, but I knew that I couldn't have it with you; not then."

"And not now," Brian whispered.

Justin smiled softly. "Why the fuck not?"

"I don't want a family, Justin. I never have. I never will."

"I don't believe you."

Brian snorted and shook his head, clearly Justin _was_ insane.

A long sigh fell through Justin's body, and he rocked back on his heels. "Okay, Brian, here's the thing. I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing this for me. I don't need a lover. I can fuck whoever I want. And I don't need a friend, I've got a plenty of those. I need a partner, and you're the only person I've ever met that I can imagine making that work with."

"Justin, that is…." Brian trailed off, lifting his hands in defeat.

"What? What were you going to say?"

Brian shook his head.

"Just tell me," exasperation and sadness together in Justin's eyes.

"Fucked up. That's fucked up."

Justin dismissed that. "Listen, I'm not asking you to be Belle's dad. I'm not even asking you to move in. Not yet. What I'm asking is to be let back into your life and to go from there.

Brian chewed on the side of his cheek, looking into Justin's warm eyes, and he should've flipped on the intercom, paged Cynthia, and begged her to get a gun and commanded her to put him out of his misery. Intead, he said, "I don't babysit. Is that clear?"

::::

The whole "I don't babysit" thing lasted all of two hours, just long enough for him to cut out of the office, go home, get a shower, and open the door to Justin standing there with an armful of Belle, who was awake and sucking on a lollipop, the lower portion of her face covered in red, sticky goo.

"Hey, um, I know I said that I'd leave Belle at my mom's, but—"

"My Grandma's at work." Belle interjected.

"Yeah, Grandma's at work, right? Anyway, she's running late, and she promised she'd stop by and pick Belle up on her way home in a few hours – "

"Grandma is going to take me to Build-a-Bear. Right, Daddy?"

"In a few hours, sweetheart, um" Justin looked at Brian again, "So, hey."

Brian opened the door and let them in. Justin plopped Belle down on the sofa and Brian winced, hoping that lollipop gunk came off of leather.

"I was thinking," Justin said, as he dug in the bag he carried everywhere, which, from the contents that he was shifting around inside, appeared to hold pull-ups, another outfit for Belle, pajamas for Belle, crayons, a small sketchbook covered in stickers, a packet of said stickers, and a DVD carrying case, which Justin pulled out and handed to Belle.

Brian crossed his arms and indicated that he was listening.

"I could run down the street to that Italian place on the corner, get some of that great spaghetti that I always loved, and then drop by the wine store because there's this great vintage that I want you to try—"

Brian looked down at Belle and then looked at Justin like he'd lost his mind.

"She's got her DVDs. I can pretty much guarantee you that if you put in _Beauty and the Beast_ she won't move then entire time I'm away, and I'll only be gone for forty minutes, tops."

Brian rubbed the bridge of his nose and considered. How was this happening? How was the day before yesterday like any other day in the last ten years of his life, and today he was standing listening to Justin talk about getting spaghetti as if he'd never been gone, asking him to watch his _kid_, whom Brian had barely even known existed, and acting like they were a couple? He took a deep breath, ready to put a stop to all of this, but the impulse was checked as an icy cold fear creeped through him. Which would hurt worse, sending Justin away again for real this time, or turning into some bizarre parody of a boyfriend who babysits?

Justin crossed to him, kissed his lips, and whispered, "Don't over think this, Brian. Okay?" And with that, Justin called over his shoulder, "Stay with Brian, okay, Belle? Daddy will be right back."

"No!" Belle called, echoing Brian's own inner scream. "I don't want to stay here. I don't know him." She looked at Brian with a deep scowl. "He frowns a lot!"

Justin smiled, crossed to Belle, pulled her close, and whispered in her ear for a few moments; she kept her eyes trained on Brian the whole time. Finally, she nodded and said, "Okay, but I want to watch Beauty. Will he let me watch Beauty?"

Justin flipped through the DVD case, pulled out a disc, and handed it silently to Brian who still stood, conflicted, on the other side of the sofa. Brian glared and snatched the disc from his hand. He put it in the DVD player and when he turned around, Justin was kissing Belle's cheek, whispering something else to her, and leaving the apartment.

"So," Brian said when the door shut, starting an awkward attempt at something other than frowning.

Belle took up the frowning for him, saying, "I can't see Beauty. You're too big. Move." And then as an after thought, "Please?"

Brian moved away from the television, walked into the kitchen, took out a bottle of water, sipped it, watched the back of her head, paced around a lot, then wandered over to sit beside her on the couch just as t.v. Belle was being shown around the Beast's castle.

Belle scooted over next to him, leaning into his side, her eyes on the television. She pressed her head against his arm and he sat frozen, unsure of this familiarity from a child he didn't even know. She stuck her hand up in front his face, hoisting the lollipop stick into the air, almost poking him in the eye with it. "All done!" she announced and waited, clearly expecting him to take it from her, which he did, holding it awkwardly as she settled back against him.

"When they dance, you have to dance with me, okay?" she said. "You can be Beast and I'm Belle, because I'm always Belle."

Brian checked his watch, how much longer could Justin be gone? Christ it seemed like hours already, but it had only been about forty minutes. Soon, then, right?

"This is my favorite part," Belle said, when the dancing started, and she hopped up from the sofa, grabbed his hand, and said, "Dance!"

"No," Brian replied, refusing to stand.

"Yes!" she said, pulling on him, frowning suddenly. "You have to! You're my baby sitter!"

Brian stood up, almost knocking her over. She looked triumphant, until he said, "Listen, I don't know what you father told you, but I am not your fucking babysitter and I am not doing _this_." He gestured at her and around his loft, meaning all of it, the lollipop, the Disney film, the dancing, the acting like he was someone to her that he wasn't.

Her lips trembled and in a sudden instant her face crumbled, remarkably like Justin's when he'd been eighteen and broken, and Brian's stomach dropped. Hell, he'd yelled at a kid; no, not a kid, _Justin's_ kid, a little girl whose mom was dead, and whose dad was apparently crazed with loneliness to even consider bringing Brian into her life. He thought of Gus, remembered him at this age, considered what he would have done to anyone who'd spoken to his son the way he'd just talked to Belle, and he rubbed a hand over his face. _This_ was exactly why he couldn't do this.

"Where's Daddy?" she whispered, tears in her eyes.

"Right here," Justin said, the loft door sliding closed behind him, his arms loaded down, and an expression of concern on his face.

"He wouldn't dance, Daddy!" she cried running over, hair streaming out behind her, and her little legs stomping the wood floor in her haste. "He said he's not my babysitter."

Justin looked at Brian like he'd lost his mind, and Brian kind of thought that he had. Brian shrugged and closed his eyes for a second, and when he opened them again Justin was hugging Belle and looking at Brian with hurt eyes.

"This isn't going to work," Brian said.

Justin rolled his eyes at him and then said, "Belle, Brian was right. He's not your baby sitter, he's Daddy's friend, and if he didn't want to dance, then he didn't have to. Sometimes Brian is cranky." He walked Belle back to the sofa, sat her down and touched her cheek. "You know how sometimes you wake up and you're in a bad mood, and then you yell at Daddy and throw your toys?"

"It's not nice to throw toys," Belle said solemnly.

"No, it's not. And you know how sometimes Daddy is in a bad mood and he yells at you over something stupid but then he says he's sorry?"

"Yeah. It hurts my feelings."

"I know, and I'm sorry. Well, everyone is cranky sometimes, and Brian is cranky a lot."

"Like Beast?"

"Hmm, a little like Beast, yes."

"Beast just needs Belle to love him."

Brian rolled his eyes and clapped his hands together loudly, dispelling the moment. "Oh, Christ, Belle, that's just a fucking movie."

She stuck her chin out and said, "It is _not_ a fucking movie. It is rated G!"

Justin bit his bottom lip and Brian stared in bewilderment at the two of them kneeling on the floor.

"Belle, Brian, let's just calm down and have some dinner. Grandma will be here soon to take you to Build-a-Bear, okay, Belle?" Justin said in his deep, smooth voice, and Belle seemed to consider for a long moment whether she was done with Brian or not, gazing at him with narrowed eyes.

Finally she announced, "I will have dinner if Brian says that it isn't a fucking movie."

Her little voice enunciated the word so clearly that Brian had to actually work to stifle a smile, which just pissed him off more. "Fine. It's not a fucking movie."

"Rated G," Belle said nodding and turning toward the kitchen. "Okay, Daddy, let's eat!"

:::::

After Jennifer called from the street, unable to find parking, and Justin escorted Belle down to the car to go away with her, Brian sorted through what he wanted to say first, deciding on, "Leave."

Justin opened the loft door, smiled, leaned against the frame and said, "Let me guess, you want me to leave."

"Bright boy."

"Yeah, well, let's just say I know you well." Justin stepped into the kitchen and started washing dishes, looking as though he has no intention of going anywhere.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Brian asked.

"Washing up," Justin replied casually.

Brian stood at the counter and said nothing, remembering a time when he'd have tried to bodily remove Justin from his loft. Instead, he waited. If Justin didn't want to leave, well, it had never really worked to try to make him.

Brian sat down on a bar stool, lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. When Justin only had two dishes left, he asked, "Why are you doing this?"

Justin just looked his confusion at Brian.

"Why are you inflicting me on your child?"

"Because once you stop fighting this, we'll all be fine. Happy even."

Brian rubbed his brows and shook his head. He felt defeated, tired, and strangely hopeful. He considered Belle, thought of her brown eyes gazing up at him with curiousity and then, later, with that searing mistrust. He wanted to take a step back, start over again with her; he wished he'd just stood up and danced, taken the hands of Justin's child and waltzed with her, maybe hummed a song in her ear. He could imagine how it could have gone, the different scene that Justin could have returned to, a scene that Justin no doubt fantasized about. It wouldn't have been hard to give him that. Brian let the cigarette dangle from his lips, feeling the tension in his body at the thought of how it could have been tonight, felt the fight welling up in his core, the struggle that he always gave in to, and he sighed.

Justin wiped his hands on a cloth and smiled, coming around the side of the counter, turning Brian's chair, and standing between Brian's thighs. Brian looked into Justin's eyes and found them amused, sparkling, and confident.

"Brian," Justin began, but Brian shook his head, pulled Justin close and held him tight. "I know you think I'm delusional," Justin whispered. "But this is going to work. It has to work." He held on to Brian so hard that it hurt, but Brian didn't move or let go. "I need it to work, Brian. I need you."

It was more than Brian had ever told Justin in return, but it was more true for Brian than it had ever been for Justin. In the years they'd been apart he'd lived his life, but it was somehow less than he realized it could have been. He'd always said that he no regrets but now, holding onto Justin, he admitted to himself that the words were all fight and no substance. He'd been a shadow boxer, striking out hard at everything, putting so much effort into keeping anything from touching him, holding on to control by thrusting everything else away.

The passing of years had given him a gift he didn't even want, because now he _knew_. He'd never had control. Not over this. It'd been the fight of his life and he'd never had a chance of winning because the prize, the control he'd thought he'd needed more than anything else, didn't even exist. It wasn't that Justin had wrested it from him; no, it was that it had been illusory from the beginning, a lie he'd learned to believe like Joannie believed in God, because it kept him alive. And just like Joannie's faith, if he didn't recognize the lie, then he'd become a walking corpse, too. Or maybe he already was.

"Brian," Justin whispered, leaning in, pressing his lips to the side of Brian's mouth gently. "It doesn't have to be all or nothing."

Oh, but it did. Brian knew that it was just exactly that. Either he'd be a part of Belle's life or he wouldn't, either he'd be Justin's partner or he'd be alone again, because there was no in between, no half-ways when it came to this.

Justin's lips on his were warm, so much warmer than his own, and he shuddered, cold through to the bone. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, opened his mouth and took in Justin's tongue, felt Justin's hands rise to his face, taking over the moment, and Brian let go.

::::

Brian was on his elbows and knees, thighs shaking, and Justin's cock slamming into him. He couldn't keep from keening, a noise that seemed to drive Justin harder, and with the next stroke against his prostate, he collapsed to the bed, rutting against the mattress to feel something against his achingly hard cock. Justin grabbed his hips, forcing him back onto his knees and elbows, and Brian scrabbled at the sheets, overwhelmed, fighting the urge to move away from the nearly painful pleasure.

Justin smoothed a hand down Brian's back, murmuring and saying nonsense that Brian couldn't even hear above his own noises and the slap of their bodies together. Brian moaned as Justin rubbed warm hands down Brian's back, and then grabbed Brian's shoulders, pulling him back onto Justin cock even harder. Justin smacked his thigh hard, and Brian tensed, approaching a level of sensation he wasn't sure he could handle.

Brian's eyes rolled back and he felt some drool start to roll down over his bottom lip. He held onto the sheets, relaxed and took Justin's thrusts, until he couldn't hold back, shuddering and crying out as he shot his load on the bed. Brian felt the pulsing of Justin's dick in his ass, and Justin bent to kiss him between the shoulder blades, both of them shaking and breathing hard.

::::

Brian rested on his stomach, his ass in the air, while Justin applied some ointment to his sore hole. He'd been fucked soundly for the first time in years; well, the first time since Justin last fucked him to be exact. It'd been better than he remembered, though no less intense. The last time he'd just wondered what the fuck he was doing letting Justin inside of him that way, and this time he knew the full extent of it, knew what he was agreeing to and what he was letting go of, saying goodbye to illusions and the pretense of control.

Justin flopped down next to him and grinned. "That was pretty hot, huh?"

Brian rolled his eyes. "Let you have a piece of my ass and you think you deserve some kind of commendation for a job well done? Sorry, Sunshine, but it wasn't that good."

Justin just smirked and Brian knew Justin didn't believe him. "Yeah, that's why you couldn't stop shaking while I was fucking you and at the end, when you came, you sobbed my name."

Brian scoffed. "You're delusional."

Justin smiled in smug satisfaction and yawned. "So, Belle and I will be here for a few more days, but then we've got to head back to New York. She starts preschool next week. I don't suppose that fuck earned me a visit from you the following weekend?"

Brian shrugged and said, "I'll check my calendar."

Justin sighed and reached over to the bedside table, grabbing the joint there and lighting it. He took a slow puff and then passed it to Brian. "I loved fucking you, by the way. I mean, I don't need to make a habit of it, but it was really great."

Brian smiled prettily and batted his eyes. "Happy to oblige, Mr. Taylor. You can leave the payment on the counter on your way out."

Justin rolled his eyes and said, "You could at least admit that it was great."

"Let the fuck speak for itself, Sunshine," Brian muttered. Christ, he'd opened himself, sealed the deal, and Justin was nudging for more. He felt the tension welling in him, the urge to deny Justin what he wanted, and he closed his eyes, took a deep breath and relaxed. "It was great," he whispered. "You should make a habit of it."

Justin kissed his shoulder and snuggled in close. Brian wrapped his arm around Justin and smelled his hair, closing his eyes and forcing his body to be calm.

::::

The next morning Justin was gone with a kiss and promise to call later. Brian had leaned heavily against the loft door, wondering what the fuck he'd done, what kind of deal he'd cut for himself, when the phone rang. He would have let it go to the answering service, but he was expecting Ted to call with the latest numbers for Kinnetik and he'd promised to let him know what the Christmas bonuses could be budgeted for based on third quarter earnings.

"Kinney," he said, without glancing at the caller id.

"Brian, hey, guess what?"

It was Michael. Brian closed his eyes and leaned against the kitchen counter. "Mikey, did you and the professor get stuck with chemically induced hard-ons again? Ted's the expert in that area, remember? "

"No, asshole. God, we take one too many pills one time and you can't let it go."

"Well, Mikey, you have to admit, spending the day with the both of you and your boners in the ER was pretty memorable—as the most boring and useless day of my life."

"Yeah, well fuck you. But guess what! Hunter and Allison are having a baby! We're going to be granddaddies!"

Brian groaned and rubbed his face. "Ah, the wonders of modern medicine."

"Yeah, and it's going to be a boy and they're going to name it after me and Ben! Benjamin Michael! Can you believe it?"

"Yeah, I can. Sadly."

"They're going to call him Little Ben!"

"Poor little fucker."

"And, hey, what's this I hear about Justin being in town and at your loft?"

"Now, now, now, I see that Theodore can't keep his mouth shut."

"Don't blame Ted. It was Cynthia."

"Gossiping bitch."

"So, it's true? You're fucking him again? Or what?"

"We're getting married and having babies," Brian muttered.

Michael laughed. "That'll be the day. Hey, wait, doesn't he have a kid? Wait a second, are you joking? You don't sound like you're joking." There was a brief pause before Michael's voice escalated into near hysteria. "Oh my God, Brian, after everything you went through when he left you? Are you crazy? Have you lost your ever fucking mind?"

"Well, it isn't like I asked him to move in, Mikey."

"So you're just fucking?"

"I told you, we're making babies. Didn't Deb teach you--"

"I'm your best friend and if you're going to up and move to New York, I want to know."

"Don't worry, if I decide to move to New York, you'll be one of the first to know. I'll send you a nice wedding invite."

"You shouldn't be kidding around like this, Brian. There's a kid involved. You can't mess with a kid's head this way. If you're not going to be there full time then you shouldn't be there at all."

"Wait a minute, Mikey. Whose fucking side are you on?"

"Your side! Her side! Everyone's side, except maybe his side. I mean, I love Justin, but if he's just here to yank you around again…"

"Michael, _shut the fuck up_." Brian rubbed his eyes again.

Michael was silent for a few moments and Brian could just imagine him standing with the phone to his ear and his jaw dropped in shock. Finally, Michael said, "Ma's gonna shit herself, she's gonna be so happy about this. Fuck, she'll probably start planning a wedding."

"Kill me first."

"Don't worry, I will." Michael sounded freaked out. "Shit, me a granddaddy and you a married man."

"I was kidding, Michael. There's no wedding."

"Oh, yeah, right. You always cave to him. If Justin wants a wedding, what do you want to bet there'll be one?"

Brian groaned, lit a cigarette and inhaled slowly.

::::

Five days later, Brian had miraculously avoided taking any of Debbie's phone calls, and had even managed to steer clear of her by being out to lunch with a client when she dropped by the Kinnetic offices. The note she left was scathing, though, and full of curse words, but he supposed that's how he knew she loved him.

Debbie owned the diner now, a gift from Ben and Mikey with the Rage money, but she liked to serve up food to the patrons of Liberty Avenue just like she always had. It wasn't that he was avoiding her, exactly; he just wasn't ready for the interrogation yet. Not that he'd do much more than just stare at her when the time came, he was sure, and she'd probably offer to light up with him to take the edge off, which was always creepy, but still, she was the only thing even close to a mom that he had now that Joannie had been out of his life (except for the payments he made to the nursing home Claire had arranged for her), and he knew he should let her lecture him about the situation with Justin, because that's what moms do.

Brian was expecting Justin when he stepped into the loft after work, and sure enough, Justin was there, making something that smelled decadent in the kitchen. Brian was greeted with a big kiss and a smile, something that he'd missed, something he could stand to get used to again. Something that he'd have to live for three whole days without, but that was okay; that was managable. He fingered the flight plan carried a copy of in his pocket. He'd arranged for a pilot and submitted the plan that morning but he hadn't even told Justin that he'd done it.

"Hey," he said softly.

"Hey," Justin replied, gently nipping Brian's bottom lip. "Go get out of those clothes. Dinner will be ready any second."

Brian considered dropping his pants right there and fucking Justin up against the refrigerator, but he was tired, and hungry, and he'd spent half of his day being completely unproductive fantasizing about sex with Justin and the other half sitting in sweating, paralyzed fear of what he'd apparently committed himself to, and he really needed to get a shower, so he headed toward his bedroom, tugging at his tie, and looking forward to a pair of soft sweats and a t-shirt.

"Oh, hey, be quiet, okay?" Justin softly called as Brian stepped up to the bedroom.

Brian stopped in his tracks staring at his bed in horror.

"Belle's sleeping," Justin finished.

Brian stared at the little girl in his bed wearing nothing but Cinderella pull-up training pants, her thighs looking like larger versions of the warm, sweet yeast rolls his mother used to serve at Thanksgiving.

"There is a child in my bed," Brian said, hearing Justin's footsteps behind him. He turned to look at Justin accusatorily. Justin lifted his brows in amusement. "There is a _child_ in my bed. The bed that I fuck people in. The bed that I fuck _you_ in. Just this morning I had my dick so far up your ass that you shot your load all over the sheets and now there is a _child in that bed_."

"I changed the sheets."

Brian grabbed Justin's arm and pointed at the bed in aggravation. He was speechless. He couldn't even begin to express the wrongness of what he was seeing.

Justin sighed. "She isn't some magic talisman who is going to de-sexify your bed, Brian."

Brian stared at Belle, her wet thumb resting beside her sweetly open mouth, her eyelashes dark on her cheeks, her face artless and _adorable_ in sleep. Brian shook his head in frustration. His bed was the most unsexy thing he'd ever seen in his life. "I want her out of my bed. Now."

Justin crossed his arms and whispered, "Then you move her." Brian glared at him. "Then be quiet before you wake her up!"

Brian threw up his hands and walked into his bathroom before quietly, carefully, gently slamming the sliding door shut.

::::

It only took a few minutes of staring at himself in the bathroom mirror and splashing cold water on his face for him to get a grip. If he was going to do this thing with Justin, then he'd have to get used to a kid being around—a lot.

He took deep breaths. If this this thing with Justin went on for a few months or more, and if it seemed like they were going to make it work, fuck, he should just consider moving, getting a place in the suburbs or something, someplace child-friendly, like in the frankenhomo neighborhood that Mikey and Ben lived in.

He thought about that, really considered it, staring at his own eyes in the mirror for a few moments, picturing the possible house, imagining a swingset in the backyard, Justin standing in the shade, smiling as Belle swung up and up, and…it didn't make him want to throw up. He didn't feel unmitigated joy like when he'd purchased the villa in Tuscany, or bought his first jet, but it didn't make him want to die, either. Huh. That could be considered progress—or something.

In fact, when he focused on Justin smiling, well, it kind of made him feel….

He shut down his thoughts. He turned away from the mirror and paused, feeling that familiar fighting tension, and he started to tremble. Okay, okay, okay, damn it, he'd do it. He'd think it. If he couldn't even think it then, what good was it to even try to live it? Okay, fine. It made him feel safe.

And with that thought the tension drained away.

He dismissed that it made no logical sense, that the person who could most destroy him, and had, more than once, was also the only person he felt safe with now. It was hard work to even allow it, but he could do it. He could let it go.

Brian pulled on the sweats he'd grabbed on his way into the bathroom and quietly opened the door so as not to disturb Belle. She was still sleeping peacefully, and he slid the drawer open to get the t-shirt without waking her. She shifted a little, her brown curls falling onto her cheek, and Brian reached out to gently brush it away, but stopped just before his hand touched her cheek.

Brian looked down at Belle's little face. He was allowed. That was part of the deal, too, that he could be something to this child, someone that she cared for and who cared for her, and he thought that might be all right with him, too.

Her cheek felt like flower petals and her hair was softer than he'd thought possible.

::::

Belle woke up as Brian and Justin were finishing dinner, and she appeared at the top of the stairs to the bedroom rubbing her eyes and clutching her arms around her tummy. "I'm cold," she said, whining a little with sleepiness. "And hungry. I need help." The last word was drawn out in a long plea.

Justin repressed a smile, though it hit his eyes, and he said, "Let's get some clothes on, then. I brought your Blues Clues pajamas or the pink ones with the stars."

"Stars!" Belle said, rushing across the room to Justin, all remnants of sleep banished.

"You're both spending the night?" Brian asked, wondering how and if that would impact them fucking. Justin had spent the night the last several days, but Jennifer had picked Belle up and taken her for time with Grandma for the night, leaving them with some privacy.

Justin had already claimed the pajamas from the bag he schlepped everwhere and handed them to Belle who needed no help getting into them. "Yeah, our plane is leaving really early in the morning. It just made more sense."

"You could've used my jet and left any time you wanted."

Justin smiled and waved the offer off. "Well, I couldn't count on that when I came down, now could I? For all I knew you'd shacked up with someone else since I'd been gone."

Brian smirked.

Justin's face softened and he pulled Belle into his lap, trying to give her a hug, despite her squirming. "You know, you're the most committed guy I think I've ever met in my entire life."

Brian lifted a brow.

"I mean, it's always just been me really. And me? Well, I was so fucking stupid."

"Hey, you said no more of that word!" Belle raised her chin in indignation. "You _said_!"

Justin cringed. "You're right, Belle. I said. So, since I said, and I messed up, you get one dollar toward that Barbie castle you've been wanting."

"How many more times do you have to say it before I can afford it?"

"Twenty," Justin answered.

Belle slid off his lap, looking immensely satisfied.

"Unfortunately, I'll probably say it twenty more times and she'll end up with that horrible antifeminist piece of plastic crap," Justin muttered to Brian as Belle began to prance like a pony, galloping to the opposite side of the room.

Belle picked up a cigarette, sniffed it, and then started using it as a magic wand.

"If she says it, then she loses a dollar," Justin went on, watching her, too. "Belle, honey, don't play with that. That's…for grown ups."

"It's a magic wand!"

Justin didn't really make a move to stop her, his eyes were intense, but apparently not really focused on his daughter. "She's growing up too fast. She knows too much about stuff that she shouldn't. Like the movies, you know, the f'ing movies?" Justin tensed, his jaw clenching, and his eyes narrowing. "I made a mistake. Trusted someone I shouldn't have. It was the final straw."

Belle was dancing, singing a song about chicken soup with rice and shaking her head around, seemingly oblivious to Brian and Justin's conversation.

"I wasn't really dating him. I'd slept with him a few times, which was stupid because he was just a kid," Justin said.

"I know the feeling," Brian muttered.

"Yeah, well," Justin shrugged, still intent on his story. "Jeffy was nothing like me. He was more like, I don't know, maybe how Emmett was as a kid. No, not Emmett. I don't know."

"Wait, his name was _Jeffy_," Brian took a sip of wine and rolled his eyes.

"Unfortunate, huh? But, yeah, and I thought Jeffy was a good kid, and maybe he was, but he was stupid, which I didn't know, and careless, and thoughtless, and I used him as a babysitter." Justin let the last bit of that sentence linger meaningfully.

Brian's stomach tightened and he leaned forward, turning his attention from Justin to Belle, small arms waving in the air, and her little voice echoing in the loft. "Did he hurt her?"

"God, no!" Justin exclaimed, shuddering. "Not physically, no. If he had, I'd be in prison because he'd be dead. But, he did watch porn when she was around. That fucker. That fucking fucker."

"Daddy! Three dollars!" Belle sing-songed, " I'm gonna get the castle!"

Brian grimaced, disgusted and angry. "Did he…" Brian trailed off, looking at Belle, trying to figure out how to ask it without her knowing what he was saying.

"Beat the weasel with her there, too? I don't think so. He wasn't doing that when I caught him."

"I want to kill him," Brian whispered, a murderous rage trembling through him.

"I almost did. I would have but Jake was there and he stopped me. "

Brian remained grimly silent.

"Jake was my boyfriend. He was…" Justin trailed off.

"Jake!" Belle yelled, running toward Justin. "Can we see him tomorrow? Can we?"

"Belle, sweetheart, remember I told you that Jake wasn't going to be around much anymore? Jake and Daddy had a fight and he won't be visiting like he used to."

"Why'd you have to fight?" Belle asked, lip jutting out.

Justin sighed. "It was grown-up stuff, Belle."

Belle narrowed her eyes, put her hands on her hips, and said, "You sent him away."

Justin closed his eyes. Belle looked like she might cry, and then she turned to Brian. "I heard it all! Daddy said, 'Bye, Jake, it's over.' And Jake cried and said, 'Please', but Daddy was mean, and then Jake _left_."

Justin pulled her close, ran a hand over her hair, trying to soothe her. "Belle, do you want to watch some DVDs? Maybe Shrek IV?"

She stared at the floor for a few moments, her face hidden, and when she looked up again her eyes were shining. "Beauty," she countered.

"Okay," Justin said, standing up to set her up at the television.

Brian sat in silence drinking his wine and fighting down the swell of rage inside. When Justin returned, quiet and grim, Brian said nothing, continuing to drink.

Justin sat in silence for a few minutes, waiting until Belle was fully engaged in the movie. "I talk about too much stuff in front of her. I forget that she understands. I forget that she's listening. Sometimes I'm a terrible father."

Brian shook his head and took another sip of wine.

Justin continued talking. "I sent Jake away after what happened with Jeffy because I realized then that I was just wasting my time. I talked to Daph about everything, how I felt, what I wanted, and she said, 'Well, Justin, what are you waiting for? Stop moping and go get him.' So, here I am, and I sent Jake away. He didn't undertand, but I never loved him, not like that. Not like I know how to love." Justin looked at Brian then, challenging him to say something, anything really.

Brian took a huge swallow of wine and then spoke, the words hurting his throat as he forced them out. "It was only time. It wouldn't matter to me if it was a month or a year or ten years or never."

Justin, stunned, made a soft gasping sound, almost like he made during sex. "I love you, Brian," Justin whispered, looking him right in the eye as he said it.

Brian stood up, walked around the table, pulled Justin up and held him close. He could hear Belle singing along with the Disney film behind him, could smell Justin's hair pressed under his nose, and the tight strength of Justin's arms around him. He ducked his head down, took a deep breath, and whispered in Justin's ear, "I love you."

The world felt wobbly under his feet, but he'd said what he had to say, and Justin was still there in his arms, he still had a little kid in his loft watching Disney films, and he still had every intention of using that flight plan this weekend, learning about Barbie castles, and killing Jeffy if he ever saw him. Somehow, this was becoming his life, and he was okay with that.


	2. Chapter 2

The Barbie Castle had been a little larger than he thought, and the expression on his assistant's face when he brought it into his office was priceless. Still, Brian couldn't help but feel that buying his way into Belle's affections would be the most expedient way to accomplish the feat. Not that Belle seemed to dislike him; no, she seemed okay with Brian, but he certainly wasn't her favorite person, and he didn't mind using his money to try to change that.

The flight to New York was uneventful. Brian didn't fly himself, using instead the pilot he kept on call so that he could work during the trip, putting some final touches on a few emails dressing down some assholes in the art department who were allowing the new interns to slack off more than usual. The landing was a little jerky, but nothing too terrible, and Justin and Belle were waiting for him at the end of the concourse, just outside the security gates.

Belle was dressed in a pink paisley cordoroy jumper, sucking on another lollipop, and holding a Barbie doll by the hair, its feet dragging on the rough concourse carpet. She smiled at him and waved. "Hi," she said.

"Hey" Brian replied, holding the giant gift bag with the Barbie castle in one hand, his carry-on luggage over his shoulder, and a bottle of wine for Justin in the other.

Justin took the wine from him and slipped an arm around his waist. "It was a long three days," Justin said, lowering his lashes, and smiling hotly.

Brian smirked, his blood rushing a little faster, and _how_ did Justin do that to him anyway, with just a look and a smile? Brian's reaction was nearly Pavlovian and the smug expression on Justin's face let Brian know that Justin knew it, too.

"Is that my present?" Belle asked, pointing with her lollipop at the Beauty and the Beast gift bag.

Brian kneeled down, a big effort with the bag on his back and the huge present in his hand. "A castle for my princess," Brian said with only the smallest hint of mocking in his voice, the best that he could manage.

Belle's eyes widened and she grabbed at the bag, dropping her Barbie on the ground.

"You didn't," Justin was saying, while trying to help Belle get the bag open with out ripping it apart. "Brian, really, have you any idea how much I despise Barbies and was hoping to never have to actually buy this for her…"

Brian, still straining to keep his bag on his back, kept in position and helped Belle pull the giant box out of the bag. She squealed with delight, hopping up and down, shrieking, "Castle, castle, castle!"

"I hope you like it," Brian said, grunting as he tried to stand back up. "Your dad can carry it to the car."

"Gee, thanks," Justin said, passing the much less unwieldy bottle of wine back to Brian and lifting the box. "I guess you'll be hailing the cab," he said as he tried to see around the top of the box.

"Got a limo waiting," Brian answered.

"God, Brian, you always go overboard."

Belle ran out ahead of them, spinning around and leaping in dance arobesques, still dragging her beat-up Barbie by the hair.

"If you hate them so much," Brian began. "Why does she even own any?"

Justin rolled his eyes. "Christ, have you met my daughter? She always gets her way."

"I wonder where she gets that from," Brian said, purposely bumping Justin's shoulder and jostling him.

"I can't imagine," Justin replied, dryly.

The limo ride was annoying, mainly because Justin kept explaining to Belle why they could not set the castle up inside the car.

"But there's plenty of room!" Belle argued, reasonably.

"Belle, this isn't Brian's car, honey. We'd have to take it down again when we got home."

"Let's do that!"

"No," Justin answered, scratching his ear and looking lost. "We'll set it up in your room when we get home. That's my final answer."

Belle turned to Brian. "But, Brian, there's room in the car!"

Brian rapped on the window and asked the driver if he had a pocket knife so that he could open the box.

::::

"Listen," Justin said as the driver was helping Belle disassemble the castle and put the many parts back into the box for transport into the apartment. "I know you want her to like you, but you can't undermine me like that."

"Sure I can, Sunshine. I think I did, actually."

"Brian—"

"Look, Justin, she's your kid. I'm not even her babysitter."

"If you're going to be my partner, then I'm going to need your help with her."

Brian slung an arm around Justin's shoulder and watched Belle scramble around the back of the limo, getting in the way of the driver, and generally making the entire process more difficult. "I'm helping with her."

Justin sighed and shrugged. "Fine, but all of my prior boyfriends tried the whole thing of buying her affection. I was kind of hoping you'd be more creative than this."

"Yes, Justin, I'm sure that my sweetly sour personality was going to win her over. And let's get this straight. I'm not your boyfriend."

"You don't do boyfriends," Justin muttered.

Brian swung him around, putting his forehead on Justin's and meeting his eyes. People were walking by all around them on the sidewalk, but no one was truly looking at them. They might as well have been alone. "Didn't you hear what I said the other day?"

Justin shrugged still frowning. "You said you loved me. It was nice to hear."

Brian ducked his head and whispered, "Then let me say it again. I love you. Let me buy your kid's affections, okay? It might be my only chance at making this thing work."

Justin chuckled under his breath. "You underestimate your charm, Mr. Kinney."

"You underestimate how big of an asshole I can be."

"Ha, you wish I could underestimate that, but sorry, Mr. Kinney, I know exactly how big of an ass you are."

Brian lifted Justin's face and kissed him, the sounds of honking cars, yelling kids, and the general roar of city life all around him. A small tug on his jacket broke the moment.

"Brian, can I have ice cream now?"

Justin rolled his eyes. "Do _not_ say yes."

Brian started to say yes, but Justin clamped a hand over his mouth. "Belle, Brian is not your daddy. I am. And I said no ice cream until after dinner."

Belle frowned, but grabbed Brian's hand. "Can you play Barbies with me now?"

Brian looked at Justin, the sun pouring from the sky, the autumn leaves at his feet, his arms crossed over his chest, looking tired and happy at the same time. "Point the way, Princess," Brian said, lifting Belle up into his arms.

After dinner there was ice cream, and then Belle put on her Beauty and the Beast pajamas and Brian asked her to dance with him. Justin sat on the sofa with a glass of wine and watched them. When Belle asked Brian to read her bedtime story to her, Justin snorted and said, "Okay, affection has been officially purchased. I'll have you know, there shall be no refunds or exchanges."

"For fifteen more dollars can I buy a lifetime warranty?" Brian said, pulling Justin up into his arms for a long kiss.

He wouldn't have stopped except that Belle tugged on his hand and said, "Come on, Beast. I want you to read the long book to me. " As he allowed her to drag him down the short hallway to her bedroom, she went on, "It's fifteen whole pages. I counted."

::::

Justin's apartment was in the East Village and consisted of five rooms and a kitchen. It was smaller than Brian would have liked, mainly because when they fucked they had to actually consider whether or not Belle might hear them, which put a slight damper on Brian's libido, but not so much of one that they didn't fuck three times a day anyway.

Brian wasn't sure how much longer he could put out at those levels, even though Justin's body drove him as crazy as it ever had, age wasn't kind and he hated the idea of resorting to chemical induced hard-ons and ending up in the ER like Ted, Mikey, and Ben. Still, he might need to give his doctor a call and get a prescription. He'd hate to let Justin down by being unable to give him the fuck of his life at any given moment. He had Justin's memory of a younger, stronger, hotter Brian to protect.

Brian had intended to only stay for five days, but on the eighth afternoon of Brian's rapidly extending visit they set out to eat at St. Dymphna's. It was a bar, but if they sat outside, Belle could still be served her favorite crab cakes. The bar's yellow exterior nearly glowed in the autumn light, and it was cool enough that they all ordered hot tea and kept their coats on.

The excursion took place after Brian had delegated most of his work to Cynthia and Ted by telephone, ignoring Ted's annoying, cloying, and sometimes insightful comments about Brian's current situation with Justin. ("It's like they say in AA, ' the road to sobriety is a simple journey for confused people with a complicated disease '" "What the fuck are you talking about, Ted." "I'm just saying to take this one day at a time; don't let your disease fuck this over for you." "I'm not an alcoholic, Theodore." "You know what disease I'm talking about, Brian." "Can you hear me rolling my eyes? Take over the Tyler meetings from Anderson, and call the Rhinehouses about the next campaign." "I'm not your errand boy anymore. I'll delegate this stuff." "Whatever, just get it done." "Oh, and, hey, Brian, don't place conditions on your sobriety, okay?" "Theodore, don't make me fire you." "You can't. I'm a partner.")

The waiter taking their order was gay and, Brian thought, probably looking for a sugar daddy because he had eyes only for Brian. Little did the waiter know that with the profits Justin had earned from Rage he could probably buy Brian's ass three times over. Still, the guy was hot, with honey-colored eyes that sparkled when he smiled, which he did a lot.

"Brian," Justin said, glancing at him meaningfully after the waiter had walked away with their orders. "Don't you need to go to the bathroom?" He lifted his brows and nodded toward the door to the restaurant.

"No, but thanks for your concern, Sunshine."

Justin nearly gaped for a moment and then leaned forward saying under his breath, "Why the hell not?"

Brian lifted his shoulders and said, "Because I don't need to urinate or defecate right now?"

"You _know_ what I mean, Brian. I'll wait here with Belle."

Brian laughed under his breath and shook his head. Justin frowned, leaned back in his chair and watched Brian with narrowed eyes for a few minutes.

"What do you want me to say, Sunshine?" Brian asked, exasperated.

"I want you to go to the damn bathroom."

Belle looked up from the coloring book where she'd been diligently coloring Elmo a livid red. She watched in confusion as Brian and Justin stared at each other. "I'll go with you, Brian, if you're scared," she finally said.

Brian couldn't repress a small laugh at that. "It's okay, Belle. I don't _need_ to go to the bathroom. Your Daddy is being ridiculous."

Justin frowned throughout lunch, stabbing at his food, and only lightening up when Belle addressed him. Brian ate in near silence as well, answering Belle's questions when asked something directly, a feeling of dread and frustration making his skin feel tight and his legs jumpy.

The walk back to the apartment was tense. Justin and Belle walked ahead of Brian who took his time behind them, stepping on the fallen leaves in their path, enjoying the sound of them crunching under his feet, it somehow took the edge off.

It was still light out, so when Belle swung into Tompkins Square Park, they just followed her to the playground, and sat down stiffly on the bench to watch. Brian had been careful to sit within touching distance of Justin, but still kept his space. He put his elbows on his knees, leaned over and stared at the ground for a few minutes, looking up when he heard Belle shrieking from the top of the slide. She waved and slid down with a happy grin, and he waved back with one hand.

Finally, he turned to Justin. "What the fuck, Sunshine?"

Justin exhaled sharply, his body tense and face hard. "Why didn't you fuck that guy?"

"Because I didn't want to?" Brian asked, confused about why this was an issue. Once upon a time Justin had loathed the idea of Brian fucking other people, and while Justin had grown out of that, it made no sense that he'd be angry that Brian _hadn't_ fucked someone else.

"I don't want to be monogamous," Justin stated flatly.

"Who said anything about monogamy? I just didn't want to fuck that guy."

"You always fuck everyone," Justin said, disbelievingly.

"Sunshine, I don't know how to break this to you, but I'm forty-four years old, almost forty-five." Brian left it at that, lifting his hands up in a gesture of defeat.

Justin looked at him sideways, a small smile starting to break over his mouth. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Christ, you're wearing me out."

"Yeah?"

Now Justin looked amused. Brian glared at him. "Fuck you."

"I'll get old one day, too," Justin said, laughter barely hidden in his voice.

"_Fuck_ you."

"You can't. You're old."

Brian grabbed him and started tickling him; Justin laughed and struggled to tickle back. Brian grabbed his head and kissed him, their mouths hot on each others in the cold air, the bite of the chill almost stinging when they pulled back.

"So, we're not monogamous," Justin said with relief.

"Fuck no. I'll fuck who I want and you fuck who you want, but for God's sake let me be the one who decides whom I stick my dick into."

"Yeah, at your age you've only got so much dick to go around."

Brian shot him another look and Justin grabbed him and they kissed again. The scream and thump pulled them apart. Before Brian could even turn his head to see what had happened, Justin was up and running across the playground. Belle sat at the bottom of the slide, holding her hand and crying. "It hurts! There's bloooood!"

Brian ran over, too, but Justin was already soothing Belle. "It's a scrape, sweetheart. Let's go home and we'll fix it up."

"It huurrrts," Belle cried, fat tears rolling down her red cheeks.

"It's okay," Justin murmured, lifting her into his arms and holding her head down on his shoulder. Brian stood awkwardly next to them, but Justin smiled in his direction. "It's okay, Brian. Kids get hurt."

"She's all right?"

"It's a scrape."

"It hurrrts!" Belle told him again, snuffling with some snot running out of her nose.

Brian pushed her hair out of her face as Justin started walking toward the apartment.

After a few minutes, Belle stopped crying and fell asleep on Justin's shoulder before they even reached home. Brian put his arm around Justin's waist and when they reached their building, Brian pushed him toward the wall, leaned against him, and held him tight. Justin gazed up at him, Belle held between their bodies, and Brian kissed Justin's mouth, soft and sweet, and then kissed the back of Belle's head. "Let's go inside," Brian said.

"Okay, old man," Justin replied.

::::

The twelfth night in Justin apartment started out like all of the others. They had managed to finally coerce Belle into bed; Brian tried bribery and Justin tried force of will, but it seemed that nothing much beyond sheer exhaustion really worked to bring the child to fall asleep.

Once she was definitely out cold, Justin tidied the apartment, cleaning up Belle's various messes, throwing away popsicle sticks that seemed to accumulate in the cushions of the sofa even though Brian was completely sure that they'd both lain in wait to rip the stick from her little hands as soon as she was finished. Brian took this opportunity to check emails and voicemails again, sending off his commands with complete confidence that all orders would be executed first thing in the morning.

He read an email from Ted that was, for the most part, about a vital campaign he'd taken over awhile back, but in which Ted managed to bury another nugget of AA wisdom. This time it was "Being part of something is more important than being the center of attention." Brian replied to the work-related aspect and ignored the rest.

Michael had sent an email, too. Ben was still struggling and the doctors hadn't given him a lot of time when they reviewed his case a few months ago, but everyone pretended like nothing had changed. Michael's email was the kind that Brian had been dreading, emotional and dramatic, definitely moving from denial into something else. Brian couldn't tell if this was anger or bargaining or a bit of both, but the email required a phone call. He grabbed his cell and dialed the number. It went to voicemail. Brian felt guilty as he relaxed in relief.

"Mikey, I got your email. Call me when you get a chance."

Justin walked into the bedroom, his expression tired and his body moving more slowly than usual. "Hey," he said, not really looking at Brian. "I'm going to take a shower."

Brian said nothing and Justin disappeared into the bathroom. After a few minutes and a few final emails, Brian stood up, walked to the door and entered. Justin stood in the shower, hands against the wall, and head hanging down, looking as though he might have been on the verge of tears.

Brian considered slipping into the shower behind him, taking Justin into his arms, and fucking whatever was wrong right out of him. He even started to unbutton his shirt, but Justin turned and saw him.

"Oh, hey."

Brian opened the shower door and leaned against the side, looking at Justin, eyebrows up, waiting for him to talk.

"I'm just tired. Sometimes I really fucking miss Meg."

Brian waited for the rest.

"She was Belle's mom and when I get tired, when I feel like I can't deal with another damn second of Belle being willful or too damn smart for her age, I always knew I could count on Meg to take over, and to love Belle just as much as I did. I miss that."

Brian nodded, biting the inside of his lower lip.

"Are you getting in, or what?" Justin asked.

Brian stood back, unbuttoned his shirt, let it fall to the ground, Justin's eyes following Brian's hands down to the button on his jeans. The shower was putting off a good head of steam and Justin appeared in soft focus. Brian stepped into the water, feeling the heat on his shoulders, and taking up the space that Justin had occupied, leaving Justin wet in the corner, his back and shoulders red from the hot water.

Brian slid his arms around Justin's slippery body, his cock bouncing against Justin's already hard length. He kissed Justin's neck, used his hand to lift Justin's chin, angling for the sweet spot that would make Justin's knees buckle.

"I want to be that person," Brian whispered, surprising himself that the words were so easy to say.

"God, Brian," Justin whispered, shuddering in his arms. "I'd like that."

Justin didn't have any condoms in the shower, so they moved to the bedroom, and after Justin slid a lubricated condom onto Brian's cock, Brian pushed Justin onto the mattress face down. Justin's head lifted from the bed, back arching, as Brian pressed the head of his cock into Justin's sweet ass. Brian let his head fall down to Justin's back as he thrust until his balls were tight against Justin's thighs.

He never understood it. He'd fucked thousands of men but no one made him feel like Justin did, like Justin had almost from the start. No one else made him feel like he couldn't get enough. Usually he was done with them before he'd even come. With Justin Brian wanted nothing more than to come immediately, to come for hours, to come for the rest of his life. With Justin Brian didn't want to the sex to ever end, but with Justin the sex wasn't even the most important part.

Justin rutted under him, fucking himself on Brian's cock almost as hard as Brian was slamming it into him. Justin made those noises that Brian used to dream about and wake up shooting on his sheets, those guttural, deep voiced groans that shot through Brian's cock, making Brian want to grab his own balls to keep from coming.

Brian ran his hands down Justin's back, smooth skin and muscle moving under his touch. Justin's hair was messy from rubbing his head against the mattress, shaking it back and forth, groaning.

"Harder," Justin said, his voice almost a whisper.

Brian obliged, closing his eyes and riding the beautiful feeling of hot, tight, velvet ass squeezing his dick. He was so close, so fucking close. Justin slapped his thigh and Brian knew that Justin was going to come, and he was free to shoot whenever he reached the peak. Justin's ass clenched and he grunted, Brian slapped Justin's ass in response and dove in even harder, reaching for that perfect--

A scream cut through the room. Brian's eyes flew open and Justin basically jumped off of his cock and off of the bed.

"Stop hurting my Daddy!"

Brian was speechless, his dick still wet and hard standing straight from his body, and Justin already grabbing the sheets, moving toward Belle, and ushering her from the room.

Jesus fucking Christ.

:::::

Belle's sobs were loud enough that Brian could hear them in the bedroom. He wiped his dick off, pulled on some pants, and wished to God that he'd never said anything to Justin in the shower, just fucked him, and never said a goddamned word.

He sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and exited the room, walking down the hall to the kitchen where Belle sat at the table with a glass of water, a cookie, and red swollen eyes.

"Sweetheart, we need to talk about this. Brian wasn't hurting Daddy."

"He was! He was! I saw!"

Justin buried his face in his hands for a moment.

"Belle," Brian said, not sure where to start. It wasn't like he could say, "Your Daddy likes it when I slap his ass. It makes him come even harder." It wasn't like he could say, "You see, when two men like each other a lot, they put their dicks in each other's asses and make a lot of noise." Or could he? Maybe that would work. "When two men like each other—"

"Not now, Brian," Justin glared at him.

Brian shrugged helplessly.

"Daddy and Brian were just playing. Wrestling. We were playing like, um, cowboys," Justin said.

"What the fuck, Sunshine?"

"She's four!"

"She's not retarded!" Brian countered.

"She's _four_ and we are _not_ going there."

Brian lifted his hands up in surrender and leaned against the counter. Belle regarded him with angry, suspicious eyes. This was going to cost him a lot more than that Barbie Castle. Brian wondered how much a Barbie Dream Vacation Cruise was going for. He'd call his assistant about it in the morning.

"Belle, Daddy and Brian were having some grown-up time. There are a lot of things that grown-ups do that are confusing for little kids. And this is that kind of play. It's grown-up play. Do you understand?"

"No," Belle sniffed. "He hit you."

"Oh, baby, it was a playful hit, like…well," Justin stopped, confounded and confused.

"Belle, when two men love each other sometimes they play naked games together and that's something that's only for grown-ups. When you're closer to being a grown-up we'll tell you more," Brian said quickly before Justin could stop him.

"Naked games?" Belle asked. Then her eyes grew more serious and upset. "Like the fucking movies!"

Justin glared at Brian. "Thanks a lot. Very helpful."

"Kind of like the fucking movies, Belle. Yes. But those movies aren't real. They're like Beauty &amp; the Beast. They are just pretend. Real grown ups play naked games that are about having fun together and—" Brian paused, feeling like he might choke on the next words. He looked to Justin who was sitting back in his seat, sheet wrapped around his waist, arms across his chest, and a look of near rage on his face. "Um, and about love. It's a grown-up kind of love. You can only love that way as a grown up."

"Oh, God, you suck at this," Justin said.

"Like you're doing much fucking better!"

Belle looked between them, her eyes still wet and shiny.

Brian dropped to his knees next to her chair and took her chin his his hand, looking her in the eye. "Belle, I promise, I would _never_ hurt your Daddy. Never. As for the rest of it, well, that's all complicated and confusing even for some grown-ups, but we can talk about it more if you want to. Do you believe me? I will never hurt your Daddy."

Belle stared at him, her lip between her teeth. She suddenly burst into tears, grabbing Brian's neck in a fierce hug, and burying her face in his shoulder. "I was scared!" she sobbed.

Brian rubbed her back, holding her tight, saying nothing until she stopped crying, agreed to drink some more water, went to the bathroom, and then let Justin rock her back to sleep, something she apparently hadn't asked for in many months.

An hour later, Justin returned to the bed. Brian put aside the book he'd been staring at and not reading.

"Well…" Justin said, shaking his head. "I didn't think I'd ever be mortified about sex again, not after telling my mom and my therapist that I liked dick, but, well, fuck."

Brian said, "Wanna finish?"

"Finish?"

"I never got off."

Justin rolled his eyes, slid down the bed, and Brian leaned back as Justin's hot mouth engulfed his dick. Fifteen minutes later, Justin was wiping the back of his mouth with his hand, crawling up Brian's body and asking, "So, do you still want to be that person?"

"Yeah," Brian gasped. "But we are going to make fucking sure the door is locked from now on."

"Good idea."

::::

 

Brian continued to put off going home. The rest of the next week passed easily enough considering there was a small child in the household. Who knew that a four year old could be such tyrant? Brian generally sat back and watched Justin and Belle do battle, not sure whether it was annoying, amusing, or just background noise. Whatever it was, there were the other things that made up for it, like Justin's morning bed head and Belle tucking herself into the curve of Brian's arm to watch t.v. at night while he sorted emails. Small things that helped the days feel like some sort of reward Brian never felt like he'd quite earned.

Justin had stayed up half the night talking about the last ten years, asking questions about Brian's life and telling Brian about his own. It'd been nice, intimate, and Brian felt warm and gooey inside whenever he looked Justin's way the next morning, which had the effect of making him feel like slapping the shit out of himself, and also like the fucking luckiest guy alive.

The lock on Justin's door was employed nightly, but they were also careful to be very quiet. Brian called his assistant and asked him to put out feelers for larger apartments in the area and to look into houses in Pittsburgh, because the loft wasn't going to cut it. He made no mention of these things to Justin, though, because it seemed presumptuous after only a few weeks of being back together. He thought they were moving too fast, but at the same time, it felt like they'd taken ten years to get to where they should have been all along

After breakfast, Justin held Belle's hand as they walked toward the corner. "So, you've got her crayons and her coloring book, and a fresh pair of pull-ups in case she has an accident."

Brian nodded. Belle was wearing big girl panties most of the time now, but sometimes she still had a hard time controling her bladder.

"Okay, so…I'll be back in about five hours. You've got my cell?"

"We're good, Sunshine."

Justin knelt down and hugged Belle. "Okay, sweetheart, Daddy is going to the gallery to talk to Miss Simone again, okay? Be good for Brian." He stood up, peering into Brian's face. "You're sure about—"

"Shut up and leave."

Justin hailed a cab and Brian was left with Belle. "Want to go to FAO Schwarz?" he asked.

Belle's eyes lit up.

A cab ride and twelve hundred dollars later, Brian stood on the sidewalk with Belle as she devoured piece after piece of candy from clear cellophane bags. Most of the things he'd bought Belle, he'd arranged to have delivered, but he did hold a small bag of some Barbie clothes, and she clutched the candy territorially.

"Okay, Brian needs some coffee," he said, almost choking when he realized that he'd referred to himself in the third person. "Um, I need some coffee," he repeated.

Belle followed along beside him, never out of his reach, and he scanned the area for a coffee shop or a suitable café, crossing to E. 59th, and ducking into the first place with a chalkboard out front.

The coffee tasted like petroleum, but he didn't care. Belle sat next to him sipping at a hot chocolate and chattering to him about something to do with somebody named Hannah Montana, which was apparently someone on DVDs that her Grandma had gotten her.

Suddenly, Belle was out of her chair and running across the restaurant. Brian almost spilled his coffee leaping up to follow after her, yelling, "Belle, get back here!"

He almost knocked a woman out of her chair bolting to reach Belle, and he came to a stumbling halt when she leaped into the arms of a dark haired man, wrapping her arms around his neck. Brian quickly moved again, reaching the man in two strides, and grabbing Belle's body, ready to pull her away if necessary.

The man jerked Belle back from him, narrowing his eyes at Brian and saying, "And who the hell are you?"

"No, who the fuck are _you_?" Brian countered, a sudden rage rushing through him, fists clenching and ready to beat the shit of the man holding Justin's daughter.

"It's Jake!" Belle exclaimed, her eyebrows drawn low and confusion on her face. "This is Jake, Brian."

Jake's face changed immediately, as though he suddenly understood. "I see. I should have recognized you." Jake tried to pass Belle back to Brian, but she clung tight.

"Well, I can't say the same for you," Brian answered coldly.

"No, I imagine not. I doubt he's got a framed photo of me by the bed."

Brian must have looked confused because Jake said, "Oh, I guess he had the sense to take it down before having you over. You can't imagine how uncomfortable it is to try to—" Jake looked at Belle. "Get intimate with someone while the love of their life is staring out of the picture by the bed."

"We're in a fucking café," Brian said, clearly this asshole realized this wasn't the time or the place. "Give me Belle and we'll get out of your way." His voice was soft but his words sounded like a threat.

Jake flushed, looking mortified and young. Brian realized that Jake was probably not even thirty yet. "Sure. Cocobelle, baby, go on with Brian, okay?"

Belle frowned. "But you never come by anymore. I miss you."

Jake smiled, hugged her close, and touched his forehead to hers. "I know, Cocobelle. I miss you, too. Go on, now. Be a big girl and go with Brian." He sat Belle down on the floor, but knelt beside her. "I love you, don't forget it," he whispered in her ear.

"I love you, too," she said, kissing his cheek, tears in her eyes. "Can you come play soon?"

Jake looked up at Brian and then back at Belle. "No, darling. I wish I could, but I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because life isn't fair. I do love you." He kissed her forehead and stood up. "Bye, Cocobelle."

Brian grabbed Belle's hand as Jake walked out the door without buying any food. She stood staring at the closed door for a long time and when she started to cry, Brian picked her up, held her close, feeling lost and helpless.

::::

Brian looked out the window at Justin standing on the fire escape smoking a cigarette. Justin didn't smoke much anymore, but Belle's interrogation over dinner about why Jake couldn't come to play had apparently worn him thin.

After making sure that Belle was still sleeping, Brian stepped through the window and joined Justin on the fire escape. The night air was crisp, almost too cold, and Brian grabbed a cigarette from the pack Justin kept hidden in a box on the window sill, lighting up for the warmth more than for the smoke.

They stood side by side in silence for a long time. Brian flicked his ash and watched it fall into the empty alley below.

"Was he good to you?" Brian asked, keeping his voice as flat as possible.

"Huh?"

"Jake. Did he treat you well?"

Justin turned to face Brian, took another long puff from his cigarette, and simply stared.

Brian sighed. "I've been thinking. I want her to be happy."

Justin's lips curled into an almost smile, and he dropped the cigarette, reaching up to touch Brian's cheeks with both hands. "Well, then that makes two of us."

Brian ducked his head and Justin stood on his toes, his lips warm and smoky on Brian's, but Justin broke away after only a few moments, taking Brian's cigarette, and turning his back to Brian, running a hand through his hair distractedly.

Brian stood awkwardly, feeling a shift in Justin's mood. "Things go okay at the gallery?" he ventured.

"Same as ever."

"Ah."

Justin continued to brood, staring into the darkness below them, saying nothing.

Brian's stomach tightened and he took a deep breath, holding it in. He moved to put his hands on the fire escape railing, the chill cutting into his hands, something to ground him. "I'm no good at this, Sunshine, and you know it. Can we just skip to the part where you tell me what's wrong?"

Justin's wry smile looked tired on his tight lips. "I talked to Daphne today. And my mother."

Brian crossed his arms. "And what did those two illustrious women have to say that has you tied in knots?"

"They asked a lot of questions," Justin said, his voice nearly a whisper. "A lot of good questions."

Brian waited and when nothing more was forthcoming he turned Justin around to face him, ducked his head down, and said, "Questions like…?"

"Questions like what we're doing together and how it affects Belle."

Brian grimaced. "Daphne's had a change of heart since she sent you to retrieve me?"

Justin scratched his ear and made a face. "I don't know. Not really. She's just…well, she seemed to think we would've talked about a lot of stuff that we haven't. And my mom—well, she doesn't have anything against you—"

Brian scoffed.

"Well, not anymore, but they both asked a lot of really good questions. All of which I should have thought of before."

Brian indicated that Justin should go on. His heart was constricting in weird ways, and his palms were wet. "Spit it out."

"Here's the thing: I made a huge supposition in coming to Pittsburgh. I came to get you thinking mainly of myself and what I need and want in my life right now. I admit that some of my consideration was for Belle, what I had hoped the two of us could build for her, but most of it was for me. It was purely selfish on my part in so many ways, and I see now that I've compromised Belle in ways that I possibly shouldn't."

Brian blinked rapidly, trying to understand what Justin was saying without throwing up.

"And then there's you. I mean, Brian, are you even _happy_? Is this even what you want? I see you every morning and you look so lost. And while I admit the look is ridiculously adorable on you, it's also something that isn't natural to you."

"I'm getting used to things. This isn't something I expected to be doing with my life."

"That's just it. It's more than just being out of your element, you're out of your world, and what am I asking you to give up? And for what? This is a life I partially chose and partially fell into, but to ask you to give up what's important to you is presumptuous and self-centered. I see that now."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"I just told you," Justin snapped, rubbing his eyes. "I think we might be making a mistake and Belle's the one who's going to get hurt."

"Bullshit."

"Excuse me?"

"You're scared."

"I am not scared."

"You can look me in the eye and tell me that what you've done, what we've done, and the choices we've made in the last several weeks don't scare you?"

Justin looked him in the eye and then looked away, taking another drag on his cigarette.

"Listen, I'm a big boy, Justin. I can make my own decisions and I don't need your mommy or your fag hag looking out for my best interests. I've done that my whole life and I'm doing it now."

Justin shook his head, dismissing what Brian had said. "Let's turn the tables, then. Can _you_ look _me_ in the eye and tell me that you'd be here in this situation if I wasn't in it? Would you be involved with a man who had a kid, would you be looking into moving out of your loft—didn't think I knew about that, did you? Oh, I know, Brian, I know about that—and can you tell me that you'd be doing all of that if it didn't include me?"

"Of course not, but I don't see what that has to do with—"

"Don't you see, I can't ask you to give up everything you've ever wanted in your life—unlimited freedom, sex with whoever whenever, never being responsible for anyone but yourself, never having a ball and chain or a wife or someone that you have to explain where you've been and why? And in exchange for what?"

Brian got in Justin's face and said, "Shut up and listen to me, asshole, because I'm only going to say these things once. I'm not giving up anything that I don't want to give up. You ask if I'd be doing this if it didn't involve you, and the answer is no. Of course I fucking wouldn't because there has never been anyone that I want to be with the way I want to be with you and there _never will be_. And as for what I'm giving up—coming home alone, waking up alone, doing drugs and men because I'm bored, working my ass off because I'm fucking lonely, and not being with you--well, I hate to break it to you, but it really isn't anything that I'd regret leaving behind."

Justin interrupted, "I get that, and I don't want to sound like what you just said doesn't mean a lot to me, but I don't want the man I love giving up who he is…"

"This isn't about sacrificing who I am and calling it love." Brian leaned in and whispered in Justin's ear, "Or maybe the person you thought you loved doesn't really exist at all anymore. Now _that_ could be problematic for us, Sunshine, couldn't it?" Brian stepped back, heart pounding and blood racing, fear tight in his gut. He had a moment of thinking back over the day, wondering why he'd ever thought that Jake could be a problem when the problem was the same that it always had been: Brian wasn't what Justin wanted, one way or another, he failed.

"I…don't think that's it. I know you. I've known you longer than you've known yourself," Justin said softly, dropping the cigarette and approaching Brian carefully.

"Then what are you getting fucking moody for? Got your period or something?"

Justin closed his eyes and his lips curved into a smile. "I don't know. You're right."

Brian embraced Justin, leaning his chin on his head. "Feeling better now?"

"Yeah. At least I know we talked about it, at least we got this stuff out there."

"Doesn't that make us mature, adult men, capable of maintaining a beautiful relationship," Brian said in a voice full of faux wonder. "Let's go fuck."

"So romantic."

"Can you think of a better way to end this discussion?"

"No, Mr. Kinney, I think it's a great idea."

::::

Brian rested his head on the pillows, watching Justin riding him in the darkness. Justin's pale body moving up and down, his blond head tipped back, and his red mouth open and wet. He gripped Justin's hips, slowing him down, making it last. Brian closed his eyes and thought the words he'd still been too proud to say, "Please, please, please never leave me again. I don't want to live without you, even though I will if I have to, but, God, please don't make me."

When he lifted his lids, Justin was gazing at him with hot, sweet eyes, his expression so intense and concerned that Brian wondered if he'd somehow gotten the message.


	3. Chapter 3

"You leave soon, right?" Justin said over breakfast.

"Yeah, tomorrow morning," Brian replied, and Belle's head snapped away from Sesame Street, her big eyes focusing on Brian.

"Why?" she asked, and before Brian could answer, she continued, "Don't go! Please!"

"It's okay, Belle," Justin said. "He's not going away for good, just for a few days."

"Why?" she demanded again, and she looked like she better be pleased with the answer.

"For work," Justin said. "His company needs him."

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Is that true?"

"Of course it is, honey," Justin said.

"I can talk for myself," Brian muttered and Justin held up in hands in surrender. "Belle, I'll be back soon. Don't worry. You're not getting rid of me."

"Good, because you're the only one who can be Beast now."

"I can be Beast," Justin offered. "Just when Brian is away, of course."

"No, Daddy, you're not allowed."

"Why not?"

" You're Daddy and that means I can't marry you, duh," Belle said, rolling her eyes in a way that Brian had to admit mimicked his own eye rolls perfectly.

"Oh, right, of course," Justin said, looking at Brian in amusement.

"I'm going to marry Brian when I grow up," Belle said, nodding her head happily.

"Your kid's going to be a wonderful fag hag, honey," Brian teased.

Justin rolled his eyes.

"What's a fat hag?" Belle asked.

"A fat lady who wants to be loved by the friends of Dorothy," Brian replied, preening a little as he spoke.

"Dorothy who?" Belle asked.

"Christ, show the kid The Wizard of Oz like any respectable queer, Justin!"

Justin ignored Brian and said, "Not _fat_, Belle. The word was _fag_. Fag is a not very nice word for a gay man, like me and Brian. I'd prefer you didn't say that word, okay?"

"Gay men love other men and not women," Belle said solemnly to Brian, using her spoon for emphasis.

Justin went on, "Fag hag means a grown-up lady who prefers the company of gay men."

"So, they won't shop unless gay men own the company?" Belle asked.

"Not if they're smart, they won't," Brian agreed.

"No, they like to hang out with gay men," Justin said, attempting to keep the conversation on track.

"Oh, okay."

Justin sat back looking self-satisfied, obviously pleased with his parenting prowess. Brian snickered at him until Justin surreptitiously flipped him the bird. Minutes after they both thought the conversation was over, Belle announced. "I want to be a fag hag when I grow up."

"Don't worry, Belle," Brian said, patting her on the head as he stood to leave the table. "It's your destiny."

::::

"You know," Brian said to Justin as they stood outside of Belle's preschool, having just dropped her off. "I've never had a fag hag."

Justin started walking and Brian fell in beside him. "Um, excuse me? What do you call Lindsay?"

"Me? I call her a muncher, but I can't speak for you."

"Yeah, well, I call her your fag hag," Justin laughed. "Hell, you had a _baby_ with your fag hag."

"And you didn't?"

"I never claimed not to have one." Justin pointed out, and then added thoughtfully. "I've got a few, actually. Daph, Simone, and Meg, of course, before she died."

"Lesbians are not fag hags," Brian stated. "Thus, I've never had one and never needed one."

"Oh, get over yourself," Justin said, hitting Brian's stomach with the back of hand. "You fucked your fag hag in college, and then years later you had a baby with her, just because she eats pussy, nothing changes that."

"I beg to differ."

"Beg away. I like it when you beg."

Brian put on an expression of one who has been mortally wounded. "I beg your pardon, but I have _never_ begged."

"Keep on telling yourself that, Brian." Justin pointed north and they headed toward the coffee place that Justin liked to frequent near the gallery that showed his art. "Have you talked to Gus?" Justin asked.

"Yesterday," Brian replied, then he sighed heavily. "His mother tells me that he's got a girlfriend."

"Speaking of pussy," Justin laughed.

Brian shuddered. "The thought of my son diving into muff will drive me to drink, Sunshine. Let's not discuss it."

Justin's shook his head in amusement as they walked, and Brian bumped his shoulder affectionately. Justin caught Brian's eye, and Brian took a deep breath and didn't resist when Justin took hold of his hand, and they walked together, like a couple, down the street, holding hands.

Brian kept his eyes straight ahead, picking up the pace a little, so that he was dragging Justin along slightly behind him. It helped him to still feel in charge of the moment, though he knew it was a tell that Justin would pick up on, and possibly read the wrong way. Still, Justin's hand in his was warm and right, the palm snug in his own, and Justin's fingers weren't too loose or too tight around his own. He realized he was holding Justin's damaged hand, the one that he'd fought to use again so long again.

He slowed his pace, let Justin right up next to him, and then tucked him under his arm, pulling him close. He lifted Justin's hand to his lips and kissed it. "Does it still bother you?" he asked.

Justin shook his head. "Well, occasionally, when I don't get enough rest."

Brian massaged the hand gently as they walked. "You know, there haven't been many times in my life that I've been as scared as I was that night."

"Yeah?" Justin whispered, his voice barely audible over the city noises.

"Yeah. There was one other time, about a year after you left, when Babylon was bombed."

"You called me that night," Justin reminded him. "To tell me about Michael."

Brian nodded. It'd been to hear Justin's voice, actually; he'd needed Justin so badly that night. He'd done little more than cry silently on the phone and Justin had let him. It had been their last phone conversation.

"Michael…" Brian trailed off.

"After we talked, I called Debbie, you know. I almost came home, then, but Debbie told me to stay put. She let me know when he was safe."

Brian swallowed hard, surprised by the deep well of anger that rushed up and filled him, making it hard for him to see where he was going. Damn Debbie. Fuck her. He'd needed Justin so much….

"Hey, watch it," Justin said, jerking him back from nearly walking into a car. "We don't need to talk about this."

Brian stopped walking, put his hands on Justin's shoulders and said, "Yes, we do, Sunshine."

Justin looked terrified and confused but he said, "Okay, then, go on."

Brian stared into Justin's eyes, curious and scared, realized he wasn't breathing, actually neither of them were. He inhaled and the cold air brought tears to his eyes. "I wanted you to come home," Brian's voice broke, but he managed to go on, "so much, I almost begged you to come home that night, but I couldn't. I wish that I had."

Justin's face softened even more. "Oh," he said, not much more than a sharp intake of breath.

"I was so scared that Michael would die, so scared that I'd be left alone. After that night I didn't call again because," Brian's eyes closed and he took a steadying breath.

"It's all right," Justin murmured.

"Let me say it," Brian said. "You said we should talk about shit, so let me fucking talk about it."

"Okay, fine."

"I didn't call again because when you didn't offer to come home, I knew I'd lost you."

Justin shook his head, his eyes shining and sad. "Brian, you never lost me. You could have called anytime and asked. I would've come."

"I know."

"Do you?"

"I think I do."

Justin lifted onto his toes and Brian held him close, burying his face in Justin's neck. Brian's body was tense and he couldn't let it go, couldn't force himself to relax in Justin's arms.

"I love you," Justin whispered.

Brian squeezed him tight and held on.

::::

"Here, drink this," Justin said, shoving a coffee mug into Brian's cold hands. "After your personal episode of Roadside Confessions, I think we could both use some warming up. Next time, save it until we get inside, okay?"

Brian smirked, still tight and uncomfortable from having revealed too much. He wondered why anyone ever said anything to anyone else; self-revelation always engendered in him a period of intense self-loathing during which he wished he'd just kept his mouth shut.

"So, in the spirit of full disclosure," Justin started.

Brian held up his hand. "I don't think I can do this right now, Sunshine."

Justin smiled. "It's okay, this isn't a big deal. I just need to tell you that I've dragged you over here to take you to the gallery, to see my show."

"I'd never have guessed," Brian said, taking a sip of his overpriced latte.

"Simone gave me the keys. They're closed on Mondays, so we'll have the place to ourselves."

"Lindsay will be pissed that you let someone else show your work."

"Um speaking of," Justin hesitated and then went on. "Did you tell Lindsay about this? About you being here with me and Belle?"

Brian shrugged. "No."

"Why not?" Justin asked, eyes narrowing a little.

"It didn't come up?"

"How could it not come up?"

"Because Lindsay doesn' t make me hard, Sunshine, you know that," Brian said.

"Don't be obtuse."

"What do you want me to say? I didn't mention it because it didn't come up, it isn't her business, and I didn't want to go into it with her."

Justin crossed his arms over his chest and said, "I don't suppose you might see how that is a huge red flag for me?"

"I spoke to her for less than two minutes before talking to my son!"

"Did you tell Gus?"

Brian looked away.

"I thought not." Justin sighed and scratched his fingers through his hair. He looked tired again. "I'm sorry, Brian. This isn't the conversation I wanted to have with you right now. I was supposed to tell you how my show was conceived when Belle was, and how the pieces reflect the strength of life, starting with a single cell, but—I don't want to tell you that anymore because you're an asshole."

Brian sighed. "I'll call them both right now if it will make you happy."

"But will it make _you_ happy?"

"Fucking hell, Justin, yes, okay? What do you want me to say? There are no right answers here and you know it."

"I just want to believe that this is something serious for you, Brian, because it is for me, and it is for Belle."

Brian got out his phone and Justin tried to bat it out of his hands, but Brian hit the speed dial, keeping it away from Justin. "Lindsay, this is Brian."  
"Brian, is everything okay?" Lindsay's concern was warm in his ear.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm in New York City with Justin and his daughter. I thought you'd want to know."   
"Okay," Lindsay sounded as confused as Brian felt. "That's good?  
"Yes. We're…partners. You should know. Tell Mel, tell your postman, tell your fucking boss, tell the world, okay?" Brian looked at Justin pointedly before closing his eyes. "Tell Sonny Boy, too. I'd like him to meet Justin."

"Tell him yourself," Lindsay said. "Call him tonight. He's got news, too."

"Don't tell me—he knocked the girlfriend up."

"Oh, Brian, don't say things like that! My God! The very idea! And don't let Mel hear you saying that kind of thing, she's having a hard enough time with this as it is."

"Can't let her baby boy grow up?"

"Can't stand the girlfriend. She's, well, she's a lot like Mel to be honest."

"She licks clit?"

"No, she's bossy, opinionated, and has your son by the balls."

"Christ."

"And you'll be nice about her, Brian. Don't give him a hard time about his taste in women. He can't help it if he's straight."

"Fine. I'll call him after dinner."

"I'll let him know to expect your call. And, Brian?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't mess up this thing with Justin."

Brian hung up the phone and smiled winningly. "There, all better? My son's fucking a mini-Mel and I'm emotionally traumatized. Am I now worthy to hear the story about how the glory of fatherhood turned you into the greatest artist in New York history according to Simone, the wonder agent?"

Justin glared at him and sipped from his coffee, but a grin started to take over Justin's face as he said, simply, "Yes."

::::

The last time Brian had seen Justin's work had been the original Rage movie. Even the artwork in the more recent Rage comics had been farmed out to low-rent copycats, freeing Justin up to concentrate on other endeavors. Now, standing in a gallery devoted entirely to Justin's paintings, Brian admitted that Justin's work was startling and entirely beyond what Brian had even begun to imagine.

The series of abstract paintings consisted of oil on five by eight foot wood panels and stood at twenty pieces strong. The first panel depicted, in a pallet of russet, crimson, and white, a sense of endless space, eternity, and yet it bore no resemblance to the familiar depictions of outer space, black, looming, empty, and it lacked any taint of sterility or pristine lines. Instead it was a full enormity, and as Brian stood before it, he understood that Justin had captured an inner space, the anti-void, a vast wholeness.

The next panels condensed that wholeness into parts, compressing and containing. The first several panels compressed it only slightly, giving the impression that the wholeness had been divided, and as the panels progressed, the wholeness was further compressed and compartmentalized, yet retained an integrity difficult to reconcile with the divisions.

The panels evolved, the original vastness becoming contained in a million ways, until a series of four panels that felt like a great indrawn breath, as though the paintings themselves were waiting for a culmination, the end of a long and tremulous pause.

And suddenly in a shift both of style, color, and texture, a sense of urgency descended onto the next panel, and then a break, a release, and that was followed by a series of panels dark and tight, constricting, pressure in paint-form leaving Brian's body tense and his breath held in, and then an easing, a gentle break, before the dark colors pushed in again, and just when the intensity was becoming too much, just when there was no way that anyone would want to continue to gaze on another panel like these, there was the crescendo, the climax, the panel that was the end in mind.

It stood there at the end, a panel of unequal purity and white hope. It was like coming out of a pool and bursting to the surface, seeing the sky blue above, clouds clean and fresh, the blinding light of the sun, and the huge gasping joy of breathing in clear air. It was lift-off in an airplane or the feeling of standing on the ledge of a tall building, nothing but air and concrete and sky. It was a vastness of an entirely different kind. It could be terrifying or it could be exhilarating, but it was called Life.

"So, do you like it?" Justin asked, bumping Brian's shoulder.

"Does it matter?"

Justin smiled and laughed under his breath. "Not really. All the most demanding critics have already declared me a genius, and the show has almost sold out. You know what they say about money in the pocket soothing the ego."

"I like it."

"I know," Justin replied, bumping against Brian, his eyes twinkling. "Those two pieces you were thinking of buying over there," Justin pointed unerringly to Brian's favorites of the show. "Sorry, they've been sold. You should've been here two weeks ago for the opening."

Brian looked around the room, noting that almost every painting had indeed been purchased, as indicated by the red dot on the placard beside each one. Brian imagined each panel leaving individually and shook his head. "These shouldn't be separated. Tell your agent I want to buy them all. Tell her to make it happen."

Justin's lips twitched in amusement. "Brian, you can't _afford_ to buy them all. I'm not sure that _I_ can afford to buy them all. Besides, you'd be depriving some poor art collector the joy of putting the collection back together again. I'm sure there are three or four of them who are already dedicated to that very cause. I mean, look at it…" Justin waved his arm around. "It's perfect."

Brian snorted but didn't deny it. He turned in a circle, looking at each piece in order again. The title of the show was "Life" and each painting represented a part of that journey from the inside to the outside, from nothing to everything. He felt a tension in his gut, possessive yearning and a pointless jealousy of everyone who owned a piece of this series, and a determination filled him. He would talk to his assistant, make some phone calls, and begin his own mission.

Justin regarded him a little nervously and said, "What?"

Brian kept his thoughts to himself, and said, instead, "Your art makes me horny. Let's fuck." He pulled Justin to him and nuzzled his neck.

Justin laughed, fighting with Brian's groping hands. "Not here by the windows. Anyone could see in."

"You used to find that kind of thing hot."

"Used to being the operative words." Justin laughed as Brian grabbed his ass and scooped him in closer, grinding their hips together. "I'm -- a -- father – now –and I've got to be_have_ like one." The last part of the word was almost a squeal from Brian's hand darting into Justin's pants and squeezing his cock.

"Behave like one later."

"Okay," Justin replied, breathless and kissing Brian's neck with an open mouth.

Brian hit the wall as Justin shoved him back, Justin's hand going to exactly the right place, rubbing Brian's cock through his jeans with a firm touch. Justin's eyes glinted as he started on the zipper, biting his lip and licking his lips. Brian's head fell back. Justin slid down Brian's body, never losing contact, blowing hot air onto Brian's cock before carefully, slowly, taking it all the way in. Brian's hips thrust forward and his made a noise that echoed through the gallery. Things were getting good, really good, out of this world, coming-hard-while-yelling-Justin's-name good, when Brian's cell phone rang.

Fuck. It was the special ringtone. The one for emergencies.

Brian grabbed Justin's hair and fucked his face. Justin jerked in surprise at the rough treatment, but then relaxed and took it easily, letting Brian's cock slide into his throat. Brian groaned, his knees shaking as he came, reaching into his coat pocket to pull out the phone at the same time.

"Mikey?" he gasped. "What's wrong?"

Justin stood up slowly, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth, glassy-eyed and confused.

Brian was breathing heavily and he repeated, "Michael? What's going on? Michael!"

Sobs echoed over the line, broken and wordless, interspersed with a high-pitched whining sound. Brian's stomach clenched and burned. He tucked his cock away and slid to the floor of the gallery. Justin stood over him, looking worried and kind of scared.

"Michael, is it Ben?"

Brian could barely make out the words "coma" and "only a few more days" and "what am I going to do".

"Hold on, Mikey, okay. I'll be right there. I'm leaving now. Okay? I'm on my way." Brian stood up and started out of the gallery, Justin behind him. He didn't hang up the phone, listening to Michael's heaving sobs as he hailed the cab.

Justin grabbed Brian's arm as Brian was climbing into the cab. "I can't come. Belle."

"It's okay."

Justin looked torn before he threw his arms around Brian and said, "I love you. Go."

Brian got into the cab, his phone still at his ear, and then he jumped out again. "Justin!" he called to Justin's retreating back. Justin turned around, his hair glinting in the sun. "I'll call you when I get there."

Justin nodded and started to go again.

"Justin!"

"Yeah?"

"I, uh, love you, too. And I'll be back."

Justin smiled and called out, "Give Michael my love."

Brian nodded and got into the cab, his best friend incoherent against his ear, the cab driver barely speaking English, and his hammering in his chest.

::::

Money could buy a lot of things, but it couldn't buy a change in the weather. A sudden storm rushed the JFK Airport, grounding all small planes and despite Brian's best efforts, there was no way he was getting on a flight on a commercial liner before the storm passed and he could go ahead and take the chartered Cessna.

It was dark before they landed in Pittsburgh. He leaned his head against the window as they approached the city, the lights burning below, and if he narrowed his eyes it looked almost as though a fire was eating away at the city, burning it down to elemental parts. Looking again with his eyes open wide, the city simply appeared lit from within.

He paid the pilot and parted ways, grabbing a taxi to the loft for a change of clothes and his car. The loft was clean, the housekeeper had been there earlier that day, and though it had been only a few month since he'd left…he felt as though he had walked into a piece of his past.

Every surface was too empty, the silence too clean, and he wanted to leave before the emptiness somehow made its way inside of him, stilling his heart, and leaving him a husk.

Michael and Ben lived in a suburb twenty minutes away. The drive was alive with lights and when he pulled up outside of their home, he sat in the car and waited. The windows of the house poured buckets of light onto the lawn and the porch. There were cars in the drive, probably Debbie's and Hunter's, maybe even Mel and Lindsay had flown down with Jenny Rebecca. There was movement in the windows, though Brian couldn't see quite who was walking around.

The night air seeped into the heated car as he delayed getting out. The people he considered his family were in there and it could've been a holiday but it wasn't. No, this was much more and much worse. This was the pulling together at the end, the gathering of the court to send off a king.

There was a large pond out back, something Michael had babbled on about when they'd bought the place, claiming that Brian would have to come over and go ice skating, and they'd laughed at him about it, though apparently Hunter obliged once or twice with his wife. Brian was glad. Michael deserved to have his whims indulged; he deserved to be happy.

Brian wanted to go into the house, join the party of people there. He wanted to heft Ben's body into the canoe they kept in the garage, pile it high with the downed tree limbs from the giant spruce out back, and lead them all out back to the pond. He wanted to light candles and lift them high, as they set the canoe on fire, and let Ben's burning boat float out to the middle of the lake. A funeral pyre for a king among men.

Instead, they would lay him to rest in a grave in Hollyoaks Cemetary next to a plot for Michael. It was a nice plot, on the side of a hill that overlooked a mountain that turned fiery orange and red in the fall. Brian already knew these things. He'd gone with Ben to the attorney to do the final planning because Michael hadn't wanted to believe it was really time.

He opened the car door and the wind rushed around him, taking his breath away, and he approached the welcoming lights of his best friend's home, knowing that what he'd find inside would be far from the promise the lights offered.

:::::

Debbie accosted him immediately. "I've been trying to get a hold of you for weeks. Did you think you could fuckin' avoid me?" She slapped his cheek relatively lightly. "Well, think again. But, lucky for you, now is not the time. I've got my baby to think about."

Michael was a mess. Debbie and Hunter seemed to be physically holding him together while Hunter's pregnant wife wandered listlessly around the kitchen, making food that nobody wanted to eat. Jenny Rebecca wasn't there yet. She would be arriving tomorrow, though there was some question whether or not Ben would even last that long.

Michael clung to Brian in a desperate hug, eyes red and nose running. They said nothing and when Michael finally started to let go, Brian led him down the long hallway toward the rooms where Ben had been staying since he'd lost the ability to go up and down the stairs.

Brian pressed his forehead to Michael's and whispered, "I love you, Mikey."

"He's leaving me, Brian, and I can't stop him. What am I going to do when he's gone?"

Brian's lips curled with repressed tears and he shrugged, unable to say anything, and why would he? He honestly did not know what Michael would do, how he would cope. Ben defined Michael's world and losing him was going to hurt like cutting off his shadow, impossible and world-rending.

When Michael was able to breathe, Brian said, "Can I see him?"

"Yeah," Michael said, wiping snot with the back of his hand, and nodding toward the bedroom. "He's in there with the hospice nurse. Go on. I'll be okay." Michael crossed his arms over his chest, looking like the lost ten year old that Brian had first met.

Brian touched Michael's cheek and then entered Ben's suite of rooms. The hospice nurse was male, young, probably twenty-three or less, with jet black hair and romeo eyes. Brian was surprised that his dick seemed to take notice, but he wasn't surprised when the nurse didn't even give Brian a second glance.

"I'll leave you alone," the nurse said, walking out without looking back. Brian watched him walk out. He had a great ass, the kind that Brian would have offered to eat, round and lush.

Ben was in the bed, hooked up to tubes of various sorts, and he looked like someone Brian didn't know. He was thin, yes, but he'd been thin for a long time; his muscles atrophied and gone. It was that he was empty. There was no one home, not in the breath that lifted his chest and fell again, not in the beep of his heart on the portable monitor.

Brian sat down on the chair next to the bed. He put his hands on his knees and looked at what death looked like. He saw his own face in the mirror every day, knew the intimacies of the wrinkles and the horrors of the gray hair. But this was Death, this was his destiny. There was no escaping it.

"Nights like these, the dying see clearly," Brian quoted softly. He looked for any evidence of the man he wanted to speak to and didn't see anything at all.

"I wanted to tell you thank you for loving him…the way that I couldn't," he said aloud. "But I won't, because you're already gone," he thought, bowing his head and feeling the heavy weight of loss push down on him, steady and real. More real than he wanted it to be.

 

::::

Michael fell asleep with the aid of a sedative and despite Debbie's loud and constant "help". Brian clapped Hunter on the shoulder and declared him in charge of making sure that Michael was okay through the night. Hunter grabbed Brian's shoulders and hugged him hard, and Brian thought he might've been crying a little.

He escaped the house before Deb could get her claws into him. He knew that she wanted to talk to him, not only about Michael and Ben, but about Justin and Belle and his heart and God knows what else, but tonight was not his night to deal with that. It could wait.

Liberty Avenue swam with queers moving like schools of fish down the sidewalks; the groups darted and dodged, twisted, turned, flashed and vanished into the darkness of doorways that went into stores, bars, restaurants, all lit with that same light that Brian had seen while standing outside of Michael and Ben's house: the light that beckoned with the promise of something warm and full, something that would feel like Christmas morning or New Year's Eve, something ephemeral and doomed to always be just outside of Brian's reach, always leaving Brian with the feeling that maybe if he'd chosen a different door, another bar, the other trick, maybe he'd finally be able to capture it. It was a feeling he remembered having as a child, and one that he'd fought off when he'd been in his twenties and thirties by constantly moving, never taking the time to let himself feel the pull of it, the lure of something brighter, bigger, more real than anything he'd ever had before.

Now, he felt it like a pain, and he paused in his walking, watching the doors open and close, the music drifting down the street, aimless and without form. Somewhere in New York , if Brian closed his eyes on these lights and these people, he could picture exactly where, there was an apartment with lights glowing in the windows. He could picture it as though he stood on the street below, staring up, feeling the pull, wanting it, knowing who was inside and what they might be doing: cooking dinner, dancing by the fireplace, watching cartoons, or playing princess and dragon. It would feel so much more real than this. And he knew, even though it was just in his mind, that he could choose to walk up the stairs and join them. He would be welcomed with open arms.

:::::

Babylon pulsed with heat, youth, music, and sex. Nine years after Brian had purchased it, it was still the top club in the city. For awhile, Brian had seen to it personally, designing outrageous spectacle after outrageous spectacle, enticing the young and not-so-young alike with the hottest dancers, the hardest drinks, the slickest lights and sights, creating a reputation for the club as a gay mecca, drawing homos from around the world, or at least homos who somehow found themselves in Pittsuburgh. A few years ago, Brian had handed over the main reigns for keeping Babylon a mainstay in the gay universe to Natalie Johnson, a twenty-something lesbian with balls of steel and an innate talent for having her needle jammed directly in the vein of the ever fickle queer pulse.

Brian had witnessed her handle disputes among employees and patrons alike with a steely calm, perfectly lipsticked smile, and a frightening strength that scared Brian more than Mel's heavy-handed butch ways ever had, which is why he'd given Natalie stakes in the venture, to further increase her investment in making Babylon the greatest homo-retreat, dance hall, fuck palace that would ever grace the Pitts.

He stood on one of the balconies, looking down at the dance floor, his eyes searching for the one person that he most wanted to see tonight, and it didn't take long to find him. His name was unimportant, Brian knew it, couldn't help but know it, hearing it all around him every time he stepped into Babylon, or the Liberty Diner, or walked down Liberty Avenue, but the name was unimportant to Brian. The name was just consonants and a few vowels. What was important was that this was the new Brian Kinney, and the fact that people still said that, well, it stung and it vindicated, because he was still legendary, but pressed inexorably into the past.

Brian's eyes found the new Brian Kinney easily, dancing with two younger men, both trying to be the one who might be lucky enough to be dragged to the backroom. The new Brian Kinney's eyes were closed, his mouth open, and almost every face in the room was turned toward him, everybody attuned to his presence, and almost anyone would agree to go anywhere with him to do anything. He was beautiful, he was young, he was desirable, and he was completely alone, unfettered and free.

Brian waited for the feelings to come. He stood and let them roll in, strong, a tide coming in hard, and he smiled. He smiled and then he laughed. Tonight, he could see what no one else in the room could, tonight, with the one beautiful gift that the youth is always lacking and never believes is of any value at all, just an old man's excuse to keep on living when he should've expired long ago, oh, tonight that gift, that glorious _perspective_ filled Brian's entire soul and taught his eyes, and tonight, looking down on the next Brian Kinney, he didn't feel bitter, tired, sad, old, or nostalgic; no, what he felt was more accurately described as pity.

The man below him was probably twenty-seven years old, old enough to have acquired the keys to power and dominance, young enough to inspire lust and awe in those who saw him, but Brian knew what no one else did, what the man himself didn't know; Brian saw what was invisible to the world: the prison the man couldn't escape; a prison made of pain, expectations, and endless, sweating fear.

Brian took a deep breath, rubbing his hand along his upper lip, shocked at the sting of tears in his eyes. He was looking at his own prison cell, staring it in the face, and seeing how easy it was to turn around and open the door; it had never been locked to begin with.

He retreated to the offices, shut the door on the pounding music, slipped into Natalie's office, and called Justin.

"Brian, it's the middle of the night," Justin muttered, sleep making his deep voice even rougher.

"I know…."

"Where are you?"

"Babylon."

"Ah," Justin said and Brian could hear the mattress creak as he sat up in bed. "Calling to share the kinky details with me?"

"No."

"Okay," Justin said, confused. "Is everything all right? You sound strange."

"I'm good. Really good, Sunshine. Best I've been in years."

"All right…." Justin trailed off and Brian listened to him breath, the pounding of the dance music just a dull thud through the insulated walls. "So…why did you call?"

Brian put his head down on Natalie's desk, cradling the phone next to his ear. "I called to thank you."

"Thank me? For what?"

Brian hesitated, a crass joke on the tip of his tongue, but he thought of the man dancing downstairs, the next Brian Kinney trapped so tightly in his jail cell. "For showing me how fucking stupid it is to live in prison. For giving me a way out of…all of this. For letting me figure out how to get to freedom."

Justin was silent for a few minutes while Brian waited breathlessly. Finally, he said, "Huh? What the fuck are you talking about?"

"That's a dollar, Daddy," Brian heard Belle's sleepy voice murmur not far from the phone.

"Never mind. Just say…I don't know, 'you're welcome' or something."

"You're welcome," Justin said and yawned.

"Belle's in bed with you?"

"Nightmares."

"Can I talk to her?"

"Only if you promise not to say incoherent and drunken things to her about prison."

"I promise."

"Belle, honey, Brian wants to talk to you."

There were some scuffing sounds and then Belle's voice slid over the phone line, sleep slow and husky. "Brian, are you coming home soon?"

"Soon, Belle, I promise."

"Is your friend dead yet?"

"Belle!" Justin's voice exclaimed in the background. "Honey, that's not a nice thing to say, it's rude."

"Sorry. But, Brian, can your friend hurry up and die so you can come home?"

Brian smiled, shaking his head and a strange lump in his throat. "I want to come home, too."

"Okay, will you also bring me a My Little Pony Dream Farm?"

"Anabelle Taylor, do not ask Brian for things like that. We talked about this. Please give Daddy the phone now."

"Daddy wants the phone." Belle lowered her voice to a whisper. "You can still get the Dream Farm, Brian. I won't be mad."

Brian chuckled as Justin got back on the phone.

"Brian, please don't encourage her by getting the Dream Farm. She needs to learn to wait for things like other kids do."

"Why, when her father and his partner have more money than God? She's not any other kid; she's Belle."

"We can argue over parenting styles another day, maybe when it isn't three in the morning."

"Justin?"

"Yeah?"

"Goodnight."

"I love you, too, " Justin said, and the phone disconnected.

Brian hung up and sat staring at his hands, his lip in teeth, and a strange, open feeling in his chest. So odd that demands for a My Little Pony Dream Farm and an anticipated argument over parenting choices could feel more like freedom than years of unfettered promiscuity, drugs, and boundless physical pleasure.

Or maybe, Brian thought, it was simply that true freedom felt nearly identical to hope.

::::

Liberty Diner at three am looked just like all the other places from the outside looking in, warm like honey and inviting. Once inside, though, it was garish and loud, and suffering from a desperate lack of Debbie, though her touches could be seen everywhere, from the buttons all over the red vests of every waiter in the place, to the ridiculous homemade t-shirts they all wore professing their own personal logos.

Brian sat three booths down from the next Brian Kinney and his friends. He ordered a cup of coffee and thought about how a week with Justin had made him feel like the last time he'd seen this side of sunrise was a hundred years ago.

The next Brian Kinney lounged in the booth, one arm slung over the back, and a scrappy blond friend with glasses sitting next to him nattering on about which season of Heroes had had the best genetically superior superbeings. The brunet sitting across from them looked a few years older, and he appeared to be less than entirely engaged in Scrappy Glasses opinions on the now half-a-decade old television show.

Brian let his gaze wander, bored by the inanity of their conversation and the pity that he felt every time he looked at the poor next Brian Kinney trapped in his gilded cage. His eyebrows lifted as two older men came in, older than Brian even, probably in their fifites. They looked giddy, maybe high, and they were holding hands. Cowboy boots and big belt buckles, along with the heavy Texan accents when they ordered made it clear that they 'weren't from around here'. Brian watched as they sat down at the bar stools, their hands touching casually, their eyes glowing when they looked at each other.

"Look at those fucks, so fat and _content_," Scrappy Glasses said, not bothering to lower his voice. "God, I hope I never get fat."

"Or content," the next Brian Kinney threw in, taking a long drag on his cigarette. "Ain't it sweet?" he mocked, taking on the accent like he knew it well. "Wearing wedding rings just like breeders and out on the town. Probably just renewed their fucking vows."

"I think I just threw up a little in my mouth," Older Brunet chimed in.

"It's the content part of the equation that gets 'em," the next Brian Kinney drawled on. "First they fall in love, or what they _think_ is love, then they stop striving for anything more. And there you have it," he gestured at the couple. "Content, fat fucks. Death would be preferable."

Brian took another sip of coffee as a blond waiter burst through the kitchen door with plates of food in both hands. The next Brian Kinney's eyes fell unerringly on the waiter and there was something there, something that made Brian's stomach drop in a wave of déjà vu, but then it passed. The next Brian Kinney turned his head and took another drag on his cigarette and the waiter left the food at the table and moved on. And Brian knew. He knew it hadn't happened to the next Brian Kinney yet. He hadn't found a person who made him come back for more, made him start to feel something that scared the shit out him, made him maybe think that living right here, right now wasn't going to break him into a million pieces, or not caring if it did.

Brian dropped money on the table and stood up walking out the door, knowing that when you've found contentment, what's the point of striving for something more? If you've found a life that doesn't hurt when you breathe, why would you want to reach for the pain again? He smiled, knowing the answer.

Because it all came down to whether or not you believed that you deserved it.


	4. Chapter 4

It seemed to Brian that death could move in slow motion, taking and taking, until nothing was left but something empty and open, like a gate to endless lucid blue skies and vast distances that not even birds know. Ben was like that now—a terrible, measureless emptiness disguised as a body in a bed; a body that had once been a baby, held close by his mother, and later a boy, the size of Belle, and God only knows what Ben was like then. Later, his body was loved and cherished by Michael. Ben, yes, he'd even been a body that Brian himself once fucked, and now that same body housed nothing but breath and heartbeats. Brian sat in the room with that shell only because Michael was there and Michael needed him.

The house was full of people now; Lindsay, Mel, Gus, and Jenny Rebecca had arrived in the morning, and when Brian had shown up sometime just after noon with bagels and coffee, everyone had been sitting around the kitchen table looking blank and well-scrubbed by recent tears.

Brian had greeted Gus with a silent hug, and he'd held on tight while Gus had struggled to keep his newly acquired manly composure. His son was as tall as him now, and had a beard now, early for his age, and a strong body, muscled like he'd been lifting weights.

"I'm sorry I didn't call like I told your mother. I got the call to come here and it got away from me," Brian said, keeping his arm around Gus's shoulder.

"S'okay. It's not like I'm not used to you forgetting to call."

Brian breathed through the punch of shame in his gut. He put his other hand on Gus's shoulders, too, and said, "Those other times weren't okay, either. Gus, I'm sorry."

Gus didn't meet his eyes and Brian had to duck down to get Gus to look at him. "You don't have to accept my apology, but I want you to know that I am sorry."

"Okay," Gus replied, shoving some hair out of his eyes, and moving out of Brian's grasp.

Brian let it go at that; there was too much stress in the house to try to make his entire crappy career as an absentee father right with his son; besides, some things couldn't be made right. Some things you had to just learn to carry the weight of without asking someone else to relieve you of the burden with a few empty words of forgiveness.

Brian had leaned against the kitchen counter, another cup of coffee in his hands, stooped over with exhaustion. "Where's Deb?" he asked.

"She had to go home to check on Carl," Lindsay offered, spreading some jam on toast for Jenny Rebecca, who sat at the table next to her mothers looking solemn and shocked. "He's still suffering from gout, you know."

"And Emmett?" Brian asked. He already knew that Ted was at the office but was planning on coming over after his meeting with the execs from Whittaker and Sons to say his final goodbyes.

"He's stuck in an airport in Tampa," Mel said, rolling her eyes.

"Drew was doing the announcing for the Buckaneers but now there is a hurricane coming through and all the flights are canceled and the rental cars are all gone in like a fifty mile radius," Gus contributed.

Brian nodded, his eyes on Jenny Rebecca. She was ten now, short and thin, with a butch-dyke haircut that Brian suspected Mel convinced her to get. She preferred the nickname J.R., and was wearing a pair of jeans that looked nearly dirty and a plaid button down shirt which barely covered a t-shirt emblazoned with "Baby Dyke". Despite the provocative shirt, J.R. looked every bit her age with dark eyes wide open and frightened, her face pale, and her fingers held onto her glass of milk a little too tightly like she feared that it might slip and break.

Brian cleared his throat, uncomfortable, wishing that he could bring her some kind of comfort or hope, but he'd never been involved much in her life, and like the situation with Gus, now wasn't the time to try to change that.

"Michael?" Brian asked, nodding towards the hallway leading to Ben's rooms.

"He's been back there most of the morning," Lindsay said, her eyes darting to Mel and then the children, as though she wasn't sure what to say in front of them.

"He doesn't want to leave. He's afraid Ben's gonna die when he's not around," Gus said, and Lindsay looked surprised, as though she hadn't expected him to know that. "What?" Gus asked. "It's obvious. Besides," he looked away, shoving hair out of his eyes. "That's how I'd feel if I were him."

Brian closed his eyes and let his chin fall to his chest, a sudden pain wracking through him along with flashes of a baseball bat, blood in blond hair, the smell of hospital corridors, sterile and sick, and most of all, the feeling of a soft, bloodstained scarf around his neck.

Brian shoved away from the counter and turned to walk down the hall. Lindsay's hand on his arm surprised him, but he let her hold him back long enough from him to say, "Someone needs to be there for him. It needs to be me."

Lindsay glanced back around the kitchen, and Brian followed her eyes, saw Mel shake her head in disgust and shrug. Linsday let go of his arm and said, "Be gentle with him, Brian. He's in pain."

"Don't you think I fucking know that," Brian whispered, and it sounded like a bark instead of his voice.

"I _do_ know that you know that. I just wanted to remind you. He's so delicate right now; it scares me." She tilted her head and he felt his mouth start to tremble with his own repressed tears. "I think it scares all of us, even you. Maybe, even, especially you."

Brian swallowed and nodded.

When he'd knocked softly on Ben's door, he waited until he heard Michael say that he could come in.

He sat there for hours with Michael, watching him go back and forth from a strange absent stare to tears that he wiped on his sleeve. Brian touched him when he knew he should, but otherwise he just waited.

At one point he heard Debbie in the hallway and he looked at Michael, saw the answer he needed, and headed out to meet her. "How is he?" she asked, her voice soft with concern.

Brian shook his head, and when she started to push past him, Brian had to grab her arm.

"Deb," he said and he looked at her tenderly, telling her with his eyes what he knew she wouldn't want to hear.

Her mouth opened and closed, and she looked toward the door of Ben's bedroom with an expression of hurt and determination on her face.

"Deb," he said again, and shook his head. "Don't make this harder. He doesn't want you there for this part. He wants to do it alone."

The hospice nurse, who had entered just before Brian left to check on Ben's vitals again, joined them in the hallway and said, "It shouldn't be long now. Michael asked that we all wait in the living room."

::::

Brian stood on the porch of Michael and Ben's home, smoking a cigarette and gazing at the edges of the darkening and relentlessly denying sky; the sun faded early on the horizon of the winter day. He watched as the stars started to come out, thinking of the vastness of them, the gate that Ben's soul had already stepped through, and he wished that he could pray. Instead, he tossed the cigarette aside and took a deep breath of the cold air, feeling it carve cleanly into his lungs, bringing tears to his eyes.

He heard them stirring inside and he opened the door, entered the living room, and saw Michael standing in the doorway to the hall, arms crossed on his chest, his expression shocked,surprised, as though even to the last he had been unable to believe.

"He's gone," Michael said, and then slid to the floor.

::::

The funeral took place on a bitingly cold day. The service was held in at the GLBT center as Ben had arranged. Afterwards, only a few of them took the long trek to the cemetery to see the body descend into the earth.

Justin and Jennifer held Belle's hands firmly and Justin bent to speak quietly in her ear. She wore a black dress, black mittens, and black ear muffs; her dark curls hung down her back, and her big brown eyes would occasionally meet Brian's in concern and confusion, and then look away.

Brian stood across from them, keeping his vigil next to Michael. The coffin was black and simple, and Brian remembered that he'd been surprised that Ben had gone the route of burial instead of cremation, but Ben had explained that Michael wanted them to be buried together, forever. Together in decay, together until some archeologists dug up their bones in a couple thousand years.

Michael held up bravely as the lesbian buddhist monk presiding said a few words, and then asked that each of them in turn to say something about Ben before the coffin was lowered into the ground. Michael stepped forward first, and Brian tried to pull him back, but Michael shook Brian's hand off of his arm. "No, let me," he said. "I want to do this."

Brian met Justin's eyes and his stomach clenched.

"Ben was my partner, my _husband_, but he was more than that," Michael began, his voice quivering. "He supported me in everything I did. He was my co-parent, my lover, my best friend. He was the person that I always wanted to see when I woke up in the morning, the person that I knew would laugh at my jokes, and tell me that he loved me."

Brian stared at Justin, whose eyes moved between Ben's coffin and Michael's face.

"He was a dad to my J.R. and he was the one who brought us Hunter," Michael looked at Hunter and despite his trembling lips and breaking voice, he smiled.

Brian looked at Belle, standing so quietly by Justin's side, her eyes taking in everything, her cheeks flush with the cold.

"Ben was everything to me, and watching him go was the hardest thing I've ever done." Michael's voice cracked completely and he had to hold back a sob. Brian reached for him again, but Michael brushed him off. "But I was there until the end. He fought so hard. He was…" Michael stopped to take a harsh breath, and Brian looked at Justin and Belle again, his heart clenching in his chest, his throat burning with the lump he couldn't swallow, and his breath coming in a short, choppy rhythm. When Justin suddenly looked up, his eyes locking on Brian's, it was almost too much and Brian had to fight the urge to vomit. He put his hand to his mouth, biting his lip, fighting tears, and trying to breathe.

"He was my superhero," Michael said, and Brian could hear the smile in his voice, even though he couldn't risk looking up from the ground.

There was a long silence punctuated by noses blowing and then the lesbian buddhist priest said, "Brian, you're next."

Brian closed his eyes and tried to take a deep breath, but he couldn't. Nothing would get into his lungs, and he felt like he might collapse. If that were Justin in the coffin…or Belle…how could he go on? Would he be able to stand there and be as brave as Michael? He couldn't even do it now for Ben. He shook his head helplessly, and the woman moved on, saying, "Gus? Any words?"

Gus said, "I loved him. He was awesome. He never treated me any different from J.R. It was like I was another one of his kids. I'm going to miss him. He was like a dad to me."

Brian felt Michael's arms go around him and he wrapped his around Michael, too, holding on tight, trying to be the strong one and failing, trying not to fall apart.

::::

Afterwards, they piled back to Michael's house, and when Michael asked for some time alone, Brian stood in the backyard smoking and staring at the red sugar maple by the pond. He could see in through the picture window that Justin and Belle were staying close to Hunter and his wife, Allison. He watched Justin smile at something Hunter said and then reach out to touch his shoulder warmly, offering sympathy and friendship.

"Hey, kiddo," Debbie said, surprising him.

Brian smiled and wrapped her in his arms, pulling her close for a hug. She took his cigarette and inhaled, only coughing a little as she let it out. They stood together in silence for a long time, but Brian knew it couldn't last.

"I see you looking at him and he's looking at you, but I don't see you together," Deb said. "So, what the fuck's going on."

"We're working it out," Brian said, evasively.

"Listen to me, Brian. I've known you since you were just a little shit jerking off to Patrick Swayze with my Michael, and you know, and I know, that Sunshine in there is the best thing that ever fucking happened to you, and you were an asshole to let him go the first time…and the second time, for that matter."

Brian smiled, looking at her in amusement.

"Don't laugh at me, asshole." She slapped his stomach harder than anyone else would in the same circumstances, and Brian winced. "Don't mess up your life again. Don't let him get away. When it comes to the end, don't be alone. I want someone there for you, like Michael was for Ben, like Hunter will be for Michael. Don't wind up alone."

"Deb," Brian said, softly, thinking of Ben's empty body as it had rested in the bed, knowing that he'd already gone even as J.R. was strumming him her favorite song that she'd just learned on guitar and had wanted to play for him. "In the end, we're all alone."

She grabbed his chin and forced him to look at her. "Listen to me, you little shit, you don't have to do this by yourself."

He held her close and kissed her hair.

::::

Brian rested his head on the guest bed pillow next to Michael's. He curled around his friend and held him close, feeling his breathing as familiar as a brother's. He stroked Michael's head with one hand and kissed his cheek.

"What are you doing still here," Michael asked, exhausted and thready.

"Copping a feel from the grieving widow."

Michael turned and kissed his mouth. "Thank you, but you don't need to be here anymore. I've got Ma, and Hunter and Allison, and Mel and Lindsay, and J.R. and Gus." He chuckled. "Ben always said this house was big enough to be a hotel but he wanted everyone to have a place they could come home to."

Brian squeezed gently.

Michael went on, "I love you, and I know you want to be here for me, but you should go home to your family."

"Who said I had a family?"

Michael ignored him, saying wistfully, "Do you remember when I married Ben and you had that cake sent all the way to Canada?"

Brian nodded, feeling Michael's stubble scrape along his own where their cheeks were pressed together.

"That was the happiest day of my life. Well, until J.R. came."

Brian said nothing.

"Go home to your family, Brian."

Brian kissed him again and breathed in his Mikey-scent. "I love you."

"Go on. Get out of here."

He left Michael sitting up in the bed with a half-smile on his face. He said goodnight to Gus and Lindsay. Mel and J.R. were somewhere else in the house, and Brian could hear Michael's daughter crying from another room. Gus hugged him and said, "I like Justin, Dad. I'm glad I got to meet him."

"Oh, you've met him before," Lindsay said. "He was there the night you were born."

Gus looked confused. "Really?"

"Oh, yes," Lindsay said. "I'm sure Justin would tell you all about it. He named you."

"He did?"

Brian shook his head, bemused. "Christ, I'd forgotten about that." He looked at Gus, and really saw him. He had spent years striving, looking for that something big that would give his life meaning and shape, and now in the kitchen of Michael's home, having just buried his best friend's lover, he realized that night had been _it_, and now his son was standing before him in the very shape of those vanished years in between. Brian couldn't look at Gus (or Belle for that matter) and call it regret, but it sure felt like a lot of wasted time.

He looped his arm around Gus's neck and whispered in his ear, "I love you. I should say that more often than I fucking do. But I probably won't…so just don't forget."

Gus grabbed him and hugged him hard.

:::::

The directions he'd scribbled from the internet led to a house in a neighborhood of nice older homes, just a few streets over from the run-down lower middle class neighborhood he'd grown up in. It was made of stone and wood, gardens of winter flowers planted to spruce up the place before the snow fell and covered any sign of them.

Brian swung into the drive, jumped from the car, his breath crystallizing in the air around him. The doorbell chimed and Jennifer Taylor opened the door, an expression of surprise and welcome on her face.

"Brian, come on in." She reached up to kiss his cheek before leading him through a well-appointed living room and toward the kitchen. "We weren't expecting you."

Justin and Belle sat at the table pressing dough into Thanksgiving-shaped cookie cutters. Belle was holding up a turkey cookie, making it dance as it fell apart in her hand, laughing, and saying, "Gobble, gobble, Daddy. Gobble, gobble, gobble!"

Justin had a pilgrim in his hand, also still dough and losing its hands. He chased Belle's turkey with his pilgrim. "Hold still, turkey. I'm going to catch you and eat you! Yum!" His pilgrim attacked Belle's turkey and there was much laughter as Justin pulled Belle into his lap and planted wild kisses wherever he could reach over her squirming. "Delicious little turkey! A Thanksgiving feast of turkery-girl!"

Belle's shining eyes landed on him and she shrieked with joy. "Brian!" Her legs hit the floor and like a torpedo she homed in on him, lunging at his legs and almost knocking him over.

Brian knelt down, wrapping her in his arms, burying his nose in her hair, and smelling the odor of sugar cookies and Belle's own sweet scent.

"Brian," Justin's voice surprised but happy. "What are you doing here? I thought you'd be with Michael."

Brian looked up over Belle's head, met Justin's gaze, and stood up, leaving Belle trailing behind him, and Jennifer watching from the doorway. He grabbed Justin's arms, hauled him up from the chair, and kissed him. He broke away long enough to find a door leading to somewhere with some privacy. In three strides, dragging Justin with him, he'd opened the door and pulled Justin in with him.

"Brian," Justin said, breathlessly. "This is the pantry." Justin's hand moved and a long cord was pulled, lighting the small closet Brian had pulled them into.

"Who fucking cares?"

There, amidst the canned goods and sacks of potatoes, Brian cradled Justin's face, kissed him gently at first, whispering against his lips, "I love you. I love you. I love you." He grabbed Justin's collar and kissed him roughly, pressing Justin's body to his own so tightly that Justin's legs were twined with Brian's, and they tilted dangerously into the cabinets, knocking some boxes of pasta to the floor.

"All I could think was, what if it were you in that fucking coffin…" Brian whispered, grabbing Justin's ass and pulling him tight, pressing his hard cock into Justin's hip.

"Oh," Justin gasped, his hips grinding rhythmically into Brian's.

Brian hushed him, humping Justin's leg, and pulling Justin's hair as he kissed him again.

Heavy breathing and grunting, food falling to the floor, and the sound of Belle's voice arguing with Jennifer's barely cut through Brian's haze of need, being close to Justin all that he could think about, until they both moaned and came, their mouths open together, breathing one another's breath.

::::

Jennifer and Belle had left the kitchen when they came out, disheveled and laughing. Justin suggested they both wash off quickly in the kitchen sink, and address the Belle issue, which they could both hear had escalated, before things got more out of hand. ("But I want to see him!" "Grandma already told you, honey, they're busy talking about grown up things right now." "Are they playing naked games?" "Excuse me, darling? I don't think I heard you right." "Grown up naked games! Are they playing them?" "Let Grandma get a drink, okay?")

Brian kept his arm around Justin's shoulders as they entered the living room. Jennifer had a glass of what appeared to be bourbon and was sipping it rapidly, rubbing her eyes, and forcing a smile for Belle as she repeated, "Darling, you'll have to ask them. I can't really say. I don't know what they're doing in there. And, no, you can't go knocking right now."

"Hi," Brian said.

Belle turned interrogating eyes on them both. "Just you wait! When I'm a grown up and I learn how to play the naked games, you'll have to let me play, too."

Jennifer choked on her liquor and Justin's shoulders started to shake with laughter. Brian said, "I think you'll change your mind about that one, Belle."

"Why? Do you have to kiss with your mouth open to do the naked games? I don't want to do that. Other people's tongues taste yucky."

"Whose tongue have you tasted?" Brian asked, immediately, eyes narrowing.

"Janie Bishop at school."

"Why?" Justin asked, a little too nonchalantly. Brian thought he'd have to up his skill level a little before Belle was an adolescent or she'd be on to him.

"She ate the last cherry sucker and said if I licked her tongue I could have the last taste of it."

"Did it work?" Justin asked.

"No! It was slimy and gross!"

"Ah," Justin nodded.

"So, do you?"

"Do you what?" Justin asked, playing dumb.

Belle rolled her eyes. "Do you have to kiss with your mouth open and use tongue to do the naked games?"

"I really think that I should leave you two alone with Belle," Jennifer said. As she walked out of the room, she turned around, smiled at Justin, and said, "Oh, and darling, just remember…_payback_."

"Belle," Brian said, crossing the room to sit next to her on the couch. "We can answer any questions you have about the naked games, but let's not do it right now, okay?"

Justin sat down next to Brian and said, "Yes, why don't you take the next few days to think of everything you might want to ask, and then when we're home in New York, we'll talk about it. Okay?"

"Why can't we talk about it now?"

Justin said, "Brian and Daddy's friend just died and we're sad. Especially Brian. He loved his friend very much."

Belle's eyes grew concerned, and she climbed into Brian's lap, straddling him so that she could put her hands on either side of his face. "Does it hurt in your heart, Brian?" she asked.

His throat tightened and he was surprised that his lips trembled. Belle's fingers touched his mouth, and her eyebrows drew down. She leaned forward and kissed his cheek, then whispered, "I used to have a Strawberry Shortcake bandaid that always made me feel better, but it came off at the pool and I lost it."

"Yeah?" Brian whispered.

"I wish I had it. I would give it to you. It would help your heart a lot."

"That would have been nice," Brian said.

"We could pretend," Belle said, her face brightening. She went through some elaborate hand motions, pretending to open a bandaid, and then pressed her hands against Brian's chest. "There!"

Brian held her hand there for a few moments and then brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them. "Thank you, Belle. I feel better already."

::::

Brian lay in the dark, staring up at the ceiling of Jennifer Taylor's guest room bed. On the opposite side, he could hear Justin's soft snores, and familiar sleep sounds. In the middle, there was a small girl with shampoo-fresh hair and soft pajamas with feet. Brian listed to the sounds of them breathing, watching the lights from cars passing by outside.

Somewhere, on Liberty Avenue, the next Brian Kinney was picking out which guy to fuck next. He was probably dancing, or snorting drugs, or getting his dick sucked by some guy whose name he didn't know. But, if he was really fortunate, he might also be walking out of the club with someone he didn't plan to meet, going home with a guy who would take his breath away, discovering a fuck that he didn't want to end. And if he was really fucking fortunate, the guy the next Brian Kinney took home might feel the same way.

And, if the next Brian Kinney ever managed to kick down the doors to his prison cell, the next Brian Kinney might someday find himself almost forty-five years old, in his lover's mother's guest room bed, with a kid next to him, and his lover snoring in sleep.

Brian hoped the next Brian Kinney would be so lucky.

::::

Epilogue:

Belle's mouth was open as she slept in her booster seat in the back of Justin's rental car. They were parked at the edge of a cliff that Brian had once planned to drive off of years ago in another life. They'd been sitting for quite some time in silence, crappy Christmas carols on the radio, the only thing they'd been able to get on the car stereo at this altitude.

Brian had been thinking of it for days now, and it wasn't just because the last email that Ted had sent with its buried nugget of AA wisdom had truly hit home to him: the more you have on the inside, the less you need on the outside.

Belle and Justin were leaving for New York tomorrow while Brian stayed behind to wrap up a few things at Kinnetik, sign a few documents to make Natalie Johnson the official attorney in fact for all decisions regarding Babylon. He wanted to do it now, with Belle in the car, and the city glowing white in front of them. He wanted to do it in the darkness not because he didn't want Justin to see his face, but because what he wanted to say was part of that secret mystery of life, like the moon's scarred face or the shadows at night.

He turned to face Justin, getting his surprised attention. He took Justin's head and said, "So, if you'll have me, I'd like you to be my husband."

Justin made a garbled swallowing noise that ended with a strange whispered yelp.

"Is that a no?"

Justin sputtered, and reached up to bang on the light in the car, staring at him incredulously. "You can't be serious. You're just saying this because Ben died and you're freaked out."

Brian grabbed Justin's hand tighter and leaned in. "I'm saying this because I want to spend the rest of my life with you, because when I die I want Belle to be able to say that I was like a dad to her. Because when I was standing there next to Ben's casket and thinking of if it were you, I thought I was going to stop breathing, it had me so fucking scared."

Justin blinked and pulled his hand away. "And these seem like good reasons to get married to you?"

"Don't they seem like good reasons to you?" Brian said, his voice shaking with his sincerity.

"It sounds to me like you're scared and wanting to hold onto something."

"I thought you said you knew me longer than I've known myself," Brian said. "If that's true, then you already know that I've never held on to anything or anyone out of fucking fear. I hold on despite it."

Justin looked up at him, eyes full of fear and hope.

"When I think of you or Belle in that coffin, I want to run away from you so fucking fast. I want to never see either of you again. That's the first thing that I comes to my fucking mind, Justin. I look at Michael and how much pain he's in, and my first fucking thought is that if I never love anyone that much, then it won't happen to me."

Justin swallowed audibly, looking away again, staring out the front window of the car. "And your second thought?" he asked.

"My second thought is that it is too fucking late for that."

Justin smiled softly and looked down at his hands. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Belle shifted in the backseat and they both looked over their shoulders at her, but she was still asleep.

"Justin, just say you'll marry me. You don't have to go through with it now, or even ever, but for now, just say fucking yes."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay, let's do it."

"Do it? I want to hear you say it."

"Yes, I'll marry you." Justin laughed and Brian grabbed his head and pulled him across the gear shift, kissing him until they were both laughing and breathless.

::::

The End

**Author's Note:**

> **Dedication:** Years ago I promised Shape5 that I'd finish this story. I'm very slow sometimes, especially when a baby is conceived, birthed, and almost ready to turn two in the interim. So, Sharon, sweetheart, this one is for you, with love. I hope you like it. If you don't...well, I'm sorry! :)
> 
> **Appreciation:** Thank you to jackpride for the nudge to consider writing this one again. Thank you to peggin for the support and confidence over the years. Thank you to supergrover24 for pointing out a broken part so that I was able to (hopefully) fix it. Thank you to luceononuro for the support in this story and in all things over the years. Thank you to firehead30 and vlredreign for inspiring me with their enthusiasm, reminding me why I like to write fanfiction and how rewarding it can be, and for encouraging me in this story and in general. Thank you to missjungle, my heart's sister, for coming out of the woodwork all the way over on the other side of the earth where you live with your outhouse and your pig to read this story as I was writing it and to tell me to keep on! Thank you to milady1844, brandil, jule1122, smartwomn1, 1_mad_squirrel, highd, duffy_60, and particles_of_0 for reading along as I wrote, for the criticisms and the encouragement. I wrote it for you guys, too.
> 
> **Special Acknowledgment:** Thanks to Maria Rainer Rilke for the book of poetry entitled The Book of Images. The poem which Brian quotes the first line of is as follows:
> 
> Nights like these, the dying see clearly,  
> reach down lightly into the growing hair  
> whose stalks out of their skulls' weakness  
> in those long hopeless days sprout,  
> as if they wanted to remain  
> above death's surface.  
> Their gesture goes through the house  
> as if mirrors hung everywhere;  
> and they give off -- with this digging  
> into their hair-- powers,  
> which they have gathered throughout years  
> that are _gone_.


End file.
